


Evolution of an Asshole

by buggaboo73



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angry Billy Hargrove, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Person, Bisexual Billy Hargrove, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Friendship, Gen, Harringrove but its the 80s so it's really slow burn, Implied Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Jim "Chief" Hopper Being The Subtle Badass He is, Minor Character Death, No sex sorry not sorry what can I say I'm old, Other, Protective Billy Hargrove, Protective Siblings, Sibling Bonding, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-08 13:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14106111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buggaboo73/pseuds/buggaboo73
Summary: COMPLETE**This was a one shot, but it's now multi chapter. Therefore, chapter 1 is really long, because it was originally stand alone. I could break it into smaller chapters but....I'm lazy. :DChapter 1 takes place a couple years after the events of season 2. Susan and Neil are gone, Max and Billy hobble along on their own with the help of Hopper.Chapters 2 - 8 occur 3 years after the end of season 2. Max and Billy continue to grow and develop. Steve introduces Billy to monster hunting, along with Hopper and Joyce. He and Max also push him to embrace his sexuality, but it's slow and relatively tame (because 80s and because writing graphic sex just isn't my thing, stated with no judgment on those who enjoy it).Mentions of past domestic violence / child abuse. Very mild domestic violence (I'm not even sure I'd call it that but I know how sensitive some people are so....there ya go) in chapter 6.Lots of swearing.





	1. Asshole

**Author's Note:**

> I know Billy is not equipped for much character growth in canon, and I respect that because I'm one of those people who thinks the author needs to tell their story, without fan service. I also have no interest in romanticizing him as the Duffers have him written. 
> 
> Having said that, the version of the character I've transported to my fictional world is capable of growth. I love character development, so this is just about me doing that, myself. 
> 
> If you're interested in that, awesome. If you're not, I respect that, but please also respect me by not yelling at me about romanticizing a sociopath....because that's not my intention.
> 
> Also, please remember the time period. Society, in general, was looser with regard to underage drinking and drinking while driving.
> 
> Lastly, I obviously don't own Stranger Things.

Billy Hargrove knows he's an asshole.

Hell, catch him at the right time, he might even revel in it.

Growing up with his Dad was all about survival, and survival meant becoming an asshole. Even if that meant most of Hawkins thought he was a sociopath, including his step sister, Max.

Not that she didn't have good reason, after what he'd done to Steve Harrington; after everything he'd done to _her_.

After Lucas.

When he thought of it at all, Billy liked to tell himself his shitty behavior was necessary; that he'd been preparing Max for life with Dad; toughening her up. After all, he wasn't planning to stay in Hawkins a hot second, once he had that diploma in hand. And with him gone? With him gone, she'd need to learn to watch her attitude, to be on time.....to stay away from "undesirables".

Some part of his brain; that traitorous, dumb, doe eyed part that he had all but shut down by 17 -- knew that his own personal road to hell was being paved with half formed intentions and plenty of bullshit. That same little voice liked to say he probably deserved to be drugged and left on the Beyer's cheap linoleum.

The rest of him was just pissed.

FINE.

Let Max learn the hard way. Just like he had.

Turned out, the old man was even less patient than Billy imagined. Once he stopped trying to manhandle Maxine off the train tracks of Dad's temper, it didn't take long at all. A couple conversations with that spineless wife about how her daughter needed a "firm hand" and he had free reign.

Max started taking her own lumps; he walled up what was left of his conscience, turned up his music, and let it happen.

She snuck out one too many times and got introduced to Dad's belt.  
Billy went for a drive and pretended not to know what was happening.

She got caught kissing Sinclair (undesirable, per his father's fucked up values) and there was a Max shaped dent in the living room plaster.  
Billy turned up his music and smoked every cigarette he owned.

Smoking in the girls room at almost-14 led to a black eye and a visit from Sherriff Hopper.  
Billy swore up and down everything was fine. Then again, so did Max. FOSTER CARE had been carefully explained to her as the only just punishment for kids who ratted to cops.

His senior year, a phone call came in the middle of the night. He heard Susan's voice through the door, thin and urgent.

Max's dad was dead.  
Billy's dad said he'd sooner fuck a goat than give "that kid" money to go back to Cali for the funeral.

He heard her sobs through the wall that night and he tried to think she deserved it but....well, the Beyer's kitchen floor had been months ago by then, and this was her father, after all.

He stood outside her door and thought about knocking.

In the end, he shuffled to the bathroom instead; took a leak and went to bed, stuffing his head under the pillow and counting down the days until graduation.

 

The day after Susan and Dad died, Billy got a letter in the mail. It was a copy of Susan's will, and a piece of cheap writing paper fell out when he unfolded it.

"What the fuck?"

He bent down, cigarette in mouth, and considered squashing it under his boot and leaving it there.

But, he was curious. Maybe she was planning to leave him some money or something, he thought, glancing ruefully at his shithole apartment building.

_Dear Billy,_

_Enclosed is a copy of my will. By the time you get this, you will need it._

_Please take care of Max. I know you two aren't close, but I still remember how good you were to her in the beginning. I've made a mess of my life and hers. I think you might be the only one who can understand her._

_Maybe you can help each other._

_Love,_  
_Susan_

He flipped the envelope over, shaded his eyes with a hand, and studied it. Although his box had been stuffed full with about 3 days mail, according to the postmark, this one had just arrived.

In the year that he'd lived on his own, back in good old California (which, the little voice reminded him, was actually not as good as in his memories), he hadn't heard a peep out of anyone in Hawkins, but he figured if she died, someone would have gotten in touch.

Then again, the note said he would need it, _by the time it arrived_.

What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?

He tried to put it to the back of his mind; slammed the mailbox shut without even locking it, and went for a walk to clear his head and have a smoke.

This had to be a prank. Everyone knew he and Max were combustible.

Next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the pay phone, outside the liquor store. He didn't think about why he was suddenly nervous, didn't think about the quarters feeling hot and sticky in his fingers, just dropped them in and dialed the phone.

1 ring. 2 rings.

"Hullo, Hargroves."

"Hey uh, this is Billy," he paused, licking his lips, "who is this?"

"Billy Hargrove?"

"Yeah, man, the fuck do you think?"

There was a pause at the end of the line, an exchange of male voices. A new guy on the phone.

"Kid, this is Chief Hopper, we've been trying to reach you. You need to come home. There's been an emergency."

 

Billy Hargrove knows he's an asshole.

He also knows, as much as he'd like to deny it, there are other parts to him.

One of those parts is currently yammering away in the back of his skull as he speeds along the interstate, trying to pretend he's not 100% shitting his shorts about whatever the hell is going on at home.

He turns up the music. Smacks the steering wheel. Tries not to think about the will.

By the time he finally gets there, he's got the little voice knocked flat and he's operating on adrenaline. He puts on his poker face and leaves it on while Hopper explains about the car, and the hose; the rags in the windows and the dead couple sitting inside. He keeps it on when he sees the suicide note that amounts to nothing more than one last, giant "fuck you" from his Dad.

He damn sure keeps it on when Max, upon seeing him, starts screaming hysterically and has to be sedated.

 

The next day she wakes up late, comes out and catches him staring at the papers in front of him. He eyes her warily, and she shrugs, slipping the paper from under his finger tips and muttering. "The hell is this?"

She sounds so much like him that it knocks his poker face right off and he stares at her. Suddenly, she shoves the paper back to him like it burned her, takes a step back and says, "NO."

"Jesus," he says, immediately irritated, "like I'm excited about it? You think I wanna move back to this shithole town and deal with your sorry ass?"

Max is staring at him. Her hair is shorter now, face harder. He can see the wheels turning.

"Look," he says at last, trying for sympathetic but his voice isn't having it, "I've been over and over it all night. I even asked the cop what he could tell me about it. As far as I see it, it's me or foster care."

She stares at him some more and the look in her eye is making him want to punch something but he's not sure why and he doesn't move.

"I can take care of myself. I'll run away." She says at last, sitting in the chair across from him like this is a perfectly reasonable suggestion and he has no reason to object.

And the thing is, he knows he really doesn't. Why should he care what she does, as long as she's no longer his problem? Just because Susan wrote him a few lines on cheap notebook paper?

But...what she'd written about the _in the beginning_. He has an involuntary flash of looking down to that little red head, bobbing in the sun beside him, sticky fingers holding his hand.

"That's a shitty idea." he says. "How are you going to support yourself?"

She snorts.

"How are YOU going to support me?"

"Well it sure in shit won't be with back alley blow jobs." he shoots back, angry.

That shuts her up. She studies him and he realizes, with a lurch in his gut that he honestly hates, that she knows he's right.

"I could work at McDonald's once I'm 16." She says, but it's half hearted. She sighs. "Look, I know you don't want to do this. I know you have a life back in California. I mean, we can't stand each other." She pauses, licks dry lips, "Maybe I can ask someone..."

A terse laugh escapes from somewhere in his chest, earning him a dirty look. He knows she has no friends left to call, she scared them all away even before he'd peeled out of this town, hell bent for leather. She did, after all, go to the Billy Hargrove school of survival, even if she never passed the final.

Friends are a liability

The seconds tick by.

Billy feels like should say something, but he mostly wants to run like hell, and he figures that's not going to help. He doesn't actually have much of a life "back in California", at all, unless you count an efficiency with broken A/C and a string of girls (and boys, the little voice reminds unhelpfully) who rightfully hate his guts.

Words stall in his throat, and the poker face goes on.

Finally, Max rolls her eyes, pushing off from the table. They both know he's no knight in shining armor. "I got it. It's not your problem, it's mine, and I'll figure it out. Just give me a day or two."

FINE, he thinks, headache blooming between the eyes. Every man for himself, she's right about that. Put a check in the lesson book, she finally figured it out.

He goes out to grab a couple beers but he runs into Harrington and that sure in hell isn't a hornets nest he wants to stick his hand into just yet, so he sneaks out the back and goes home. Goes in his old room, picking things up and putting them down, trying not to think.

He can hear Max's sobs through the wall, just like when her Dad died.

He thinks she must not know he's home.

He thinks she's such an ugly crier.

He thinks he probably owes her one. The little voice gets it's foot in that notch, and then it gets louder; telling him damn straight he OWES her, reminds him what a controlling ASSHOLE he was, reminds him how he turned his back the last time he heard her cries.

Before he knows it, before he can think about it, he's standing in her room with his hands shoved in his pockets and a smoke dangling out of his mouth.

"I'll stay in Hawkins until you graduate." he says, "Just quit fucking blubbering."

If he's expecting gratitude, he's sorely mistaken.

She chucks a water glass at his head.

 

Billy Hargrove knows he's an asshole, but he thinks he owes Max big time, too. So, he tells himself it's temporary, but he stays.

That doesn't stop him from wanting to kill her half the time.

He tries to establish ground rules a couple weeks after they bury the parents. He has to, because the county isn't altogether thrilled with the arrangement, will or no will, and the social worker spent their entire first meeting giving him the stink eye.

Also, he landed a job at the local garage, and damned if he can't sleep at night knowing she's out all hours. He tells himself, in a very firm internal voice, that he only cares because Dad spent so much time pounding "keep an eye on Max" into his head.

He comes home for a bite at lunch, on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon when she should be at school, and corners her.

"Look," he says, "I really don't give a shit what time you come home but that social worker," he pauses, warily taking in her glare, "if you want this to work you gotta pull it together."

"Fine," says Max, "I'll be home by midnight."

"Ten"

She laughs. "You high?"

He stares at her and she stares back. He used to be able to back her down with that stare, but those days are seemingly gone. She got toughened up, alright, one way or another. He knows he can't give in, but he's thinking about it, just the same, when she buckles; throws her eyes to the table and mutters, "eleven".

"Ten thirty."

Jesus Christ, he feels like he's haggling over a car he already knows is a lemon.

"Fine." She huffs. Crosses her arms. "Whatever."

"No _whatever, s_ hitbird. Ten thirty."

She doesn't say anything to that and he resists the urge to turn into his father and demand verbal compliance or start bawling her out for skipping school.

Mentally, he counts to ten.

"And you gotta quit smoking."

"The hell I do!" she shouts, jumping out of her chair.

"Social worker." he sais, voice low and even.

"If I have to quit," she says, "so do you."

"If I quit, I will kill you." He says, matter of factly. They both know that is quite possibly true. Smoking is one of the few things that keeps him calm.

"What else?" she asks, petulant.

"Grades." He grits out, and then, with an exaggerated glance around the kitchen, "And no more skipping."

"Fuck you, Billy. You barely graduated, you don't get to talk to me about grades."

That is it. 100% it. He's on his feet fast enough to wobble the chair on its legs. "For the last time," he says, loud but (he assures himself) not yelling yet, "it's not ME, it's the county. If you want to make this work and stay in this house and not have to go live with strangers, this is what you have to do."

She gets on her feet, too.

"And what do YOU have to do, while I'm doing all this?"

"Oh, I don't know, _Max_ ," he's shouting now, all attempts at patience gone, "maybe what I'll have to do is put my _life_ on hold and come back here to a place I _hate_ to help your ungrateful ass out?"

Those blue eyes narrow to slits.

"I think I'll take my chances with strangers!"

In a flash she's gone. Out and around him in a wide circle, out the front door, down the street. He strides after her but stops at the porch, watching her go.

She needs some time alone, and so does he.

Billy Hargrove might be an asshole, but he knows a long road when he sees one.

 

They hobble along with the new rules for about a month, mostly half assing things. She comes in at 1045, and it's pissing him off but he pretends he doesn't notice. Smoking is an ongoing argument. She lights them up, he puts them out or smokes them himself, giving her a shit eating grin all the while.

He doesn't ask about her grades, and he starts packing a lunch. He's going for blissful ignorance on the school situation.

Eventually, he goes out to the bar again, and this time Harrington finds him.

"Look what the cat dragged in." the familiar voice says, settling in next to him.

Billy sighs. Rolls his eyes. Waits for Harrington's next move.

"Hey man," is what comes, "sorry about your parents."

He stiffens. This isn't what he expected.

He knows only one of them should be apologizing here, and it's definitely not Harrington.

He nods, curt.

"How's Maxine?"

This earns a bitter laugh, bubbling up from his gut.

"She's a royal pain in the ass." He replies, succinctly.

Now it's Harrington's turn to laugh. "Some things never change, huh?"

They drink their beers in silence, and Billy leaves right after.

Maybe someday he'll apologize for trying to kill Steve. The little voice certainly thinks he should, but he's not exactly on speaking terms with the voice right now. That little fucking voice is what got him doing permanent big brother duty for the next 2.5 years, after all, and he's not feeling too charitable about that at the moment.

When he gets home, she's not there. It's midnight, school night, no Max.

Window is wide open. That goddamn window has caused him enough trouble to last a lifetime, and now he's pissed. Not yelling pissed, but calm pissed. Low voice and few words and brain not working right kind of pissed.

He waits on her bed, dozes intermittently. Thinks about killing her.

He wakes with a start when she bangs her head on the sash coming in, and he's up lightening fast.

"The fuck have you been?"

She at least has the decency to look guilty, for a split second. She reeks of cigarette smoke and beer.

"The fuck have YOU been?" She asks, eyes narrowed, face red. "Didn't see you sitting around reading the Bible tonight, either!"

"Yeah, we are not on the same level here."

"Why?" She sneers, "Because you're some kind of authority now, _psycho_?"

"Don't call me that."

His voice is deadly quiet.

"Some piece of paper does not mean you own me, Billy!"

"I'm trying to help you." He says, as evenly as possible, trying to keep the red out of his vision because hell if he doesn't hate to be called psycho.

"Please. Like you give a shit about me. Like you EVER have."

Max is swaying in front of him now. He makes to push her onto the bed before she passes out on the floor, but his hand flies out too fast, because he's pissed off so of course it does.

She flinches; hard, whole body type flinch. He swears to god for a split second time stops, and he thinks his guts are on fire.

"I'm not Dad." He says.

His voice is flat, the fight just drained right out of him.

And all of a sudden something in Max has jumped a circuit. She's on him, she's screaming and punching and calling him every name in the proverbial book and he's doing everything, literally everything in his power not to slap the absolute shit out of her because that is an instinct so old he can't even remember it's formation --

\--so he just grabs her and hangs on and the next thing he knows she is sobbing so hard her whole body shakes and he's hanging on to her for defensive purposes, but hanging on none the less, and the goddamn little voice is crowing triumphantly in the back of his head.

When it's over, she promptly pukes down the front of his shirt (thank God he buttoned it for once), and passes out on him.

 

Max feels like walking death.

She sits at the kitchen table and looks at Billy, who is giving her a hard stare, in return.

She remembers breaking down last night, but sometimes.....despite her best intentions, she has become an asshole, too. Just like him. She'd rather pretend it didn't happen. She isn't ready to go there yet, and probably won't ever be, truth be known, so she's sitting on autopilot and waiting.

He grounds her for two weeks, because he's snuck enough girls (and a couple boys, shut the fuck up little voice) out of enough bedroom windows to know how normal people handle this shit, and she doesn't say a word. Not even an eye roll. She's not committing to anything, but she's not fighting it, either. If she gives an inch, her emotions might take a mile.

"Got it?" He says, when she doesn't respond.

She studies him; remembering that tone and that posture from what seems like a million years ago. Anyone who doesn't know him might think he's perfectly relaxed, but that tone actually means quite the opposite. It means he's not fucking around.

But the way he says "Got it?" reminds her of Neil, and it rankles.

"Three weeks?" He asks, when she still hasn't replied, and he's the picture of politeness, smiling like the damn Cheshire cat. He takes out a cigarette and lights it up right in front of her.

"2 Weeks," She mutters. "Got it."

She gets up and goes back to bed. Prays for death.

She has a dream about Lucas, she's talking to him on top of the old school bus. She's saying she doesn't want to be like Billy, but when she looks down those are his hands.

She wakes up in a cold sweat.

 

Two weeks last about 3 days and she can't explain why, really, even in her own head. Maybe some part of her thinks having Billy back in a position of authority over her will never end well. It's only a matter of time before he loses it and does something stupid, or chucks her ass into the system and walks away.

Or both.

In any case, she'd much rather cut to the chase than waste her time and optimism (HA. HA.) on a guaranteed heartache down the road.

Of course, she's not consciously thinking this when she walks to the quarry after school and stays there, shivering and stubborn, until well after the stars are out. She's not thinking it when Hopper shows up, either. She's just thinking she hates her life, wishes she could turn the clock back and tell her mom not to marry Neil Hargrove.

And then she's just thinking about her mom.

"Hey, kid."

Max rolls her eyes. Every kid is "kid" to Hopper. Even his own.

"Your brother is.... _concerned_."

"Stepbrother," she corrects, "and bullshit. He's probably thinking up a dozen ways to kill me as we speak."

"Yeah, well" Hopper chuckles, "the two kind of go hand in hand you know?"

She kicks a rock and doesn't say anything.

"You gonna take me home?"

Long pause, followed by, "You be safe there?"

Max considers the question and shrugs.

"Safer than I was six months ago."

 

Twenty minutes later Hopper finds himself wedged into a worn kitchen chair at Casa de Hargrove, listening to these two siblings, because no matter how many times they correct him, he knows these kids have seen enough shit together to be good as blood, try to verbally eviscerate each other.

It's all good, really, because he's thinking of a plan while they go at it like roosters in a cock fight, and when he's ready, he stands up, puts his hands out, and barks an authoritative "SIT."

Billy stands there, eyeing him with dark, glittering eyes. Hop runs a hand over his face and gestures widely to a chair. He can tell the kid has grown in the year out from under his father's fist, but still has a hell of a long way to go.

"I'm good." says Billy.

Joyce's voice drifts through his mind, telling him to choose his battles when it comes to kids. He figures twenty year old punks apply, in this case.

"Suit yourself. I've got a couple things I want to say and I want you both," he pauses, levels a look at each of them in turn, "to shut up and listen."

Hopper surveys the kids in front of him. Both have short hair, now. Both are giving him the exact same look. He doesn't understand why they can't see it. Why they don't get that they're fighting the same enemy.

He clears his throat.

"OK. First." He points at Max, "I hate to break it to you, but your brother--"

"Step brother."

"-- is right about social services. That social worker, I've talked to her and she feels the same way I do."

"And how's that?" Asks Bill, a flicker behind shuttered eyes.

"That a 20 year old delinquent in charge of a 15 year old delinquent is bound to fail."

The Bobsy twins share side long glances. Hmm. Hopper files that under "useful information". If authority wants them to fail they might just kill themselves trying to succeed.

He takes it one step further.

"I'm not saying anything groundbreaking here," he continues, face full of earnest casual, "hell, I'm sure your Dad woulda felt the same way."

"Fuck you." Says Bill, but it's soft. It's a thinking curse.

Wheels are turning.

"Yeah." Hopper clears his throat, lets this second disrespect pass. "Anyway, my point is that social worker is WAITING for you to fail. And those rules," he pauses, catching Max's eye, "they're nothing compared to the rules you'd have in a county run group home."

She's staring at the table now, and Billy is staring at him. Hopper knows the kid isn't dumb, and he's not crazy either. Fact is, he's razor sharp and he rarely misses a thing. He sees what Hopper just did, and he's evaluating. Hopefully he's putting it in his bag of parenting tricks, thinks the Chief, because Lord knows his bag's pretty empty at the moment.

Hopper softens his voice. "Don't think of them as Bill's rules," he says to Maxine, "think of them as a contract you have with the county. You break them too many times, I get called to go find you too many times....and that social worker's gonna smell blood in the water." He pauses. Lets that sink in. "Look, I'm gonna be straight with you, she's just trying to do her job. She's trying to look out for you. Maybe a group home is what you need."

He glances up to see an angry flash of blue. He knows the way abusive parents use the threat of the system to their own end and he thinks it sucks. But at the moment, he's got bigger fish to fry. The fact of the matter is, if Maxine goes in the system, she will most likely hit the streets soon after.

That, is a scenario Chief Hopper would rather avoid.

"You say you want to stay here," he says, "that's the price."

He clears his throat, takes a breath.

"Second," he continues, pointing at the boy while he has his attention, "don't you let me ever, EVER, hear that things are getting physical."

Billy snorts. "Tell her that."

"I'm telling BOTH of you," he says, using a combination of Dad voice and cop voice that he hopes will drive the point home. "But you're bigger than her, and it's no secret your self control is shit."

"I'm not my father."

"Yeah? Well, Harrington's face said different a couple years ago." Hopper replies, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. "If you've got things reigned in now, I can respect that, but you're gonna have to prove it first. Here's your chance."

They stare at each other. Max doesn't say a word.

"I'll be fine." Bill says, at length, tone a clear indication that this particular topic has a giant "do not enter" sign on it.

Hopper shrugs; he's made his point. It's hard to learn restraint when nobody's ever shown you any, but the kid needs to learn on the job now, and fast.

"Third," he says, "you both need to start thinking hard about who you are really pissed at, and why."

Two sets of startled eyes jerk in his direction before identical shades of indifference are put back in place.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, I said it. Engage your brains, work some shit out, have an actual honest conversation. Knock off the tough guy routines and communicate." They are both looking at him like murder now but he's not particularly bothered. "You're both mad at your parents. You're both pissed off at how damaged you are. You know what? Too bad. They thought you were fuck ups, so prove 'em wrong. Put in the work; say the hard stuff.....bottom line you either get your shit together or this isn't gonna work."

Nobody says anything, so he gets out of the chair, jams his hat on his head, and sees himself out the back door.

Let them chew on that one a while.

 

Billy Hargrove knows he's an asshole, but right now he's still so pissed at Max that he can't even see straight, and the Chief's words are zinging around his skull like bullets in a barrel, so when she looks at him, he says "Clock starts over. Two weeks."

And he walks away. He doesn't speak to her for 3 days, because he doesn't know where to begin; because he thinks if he shows her any weakness she'll take it and run.

Because he's confused as fuck.

But she stays home. Comes right in after school. Does her homework. Still smoking, but he figures there's only so much hypocrisy he can dish out at a time, and she at least has the decency to hide it, so he lets that one go.

On the third day she makes breakfast. Good breakfast too, not just half warm leftovers or burnt toast. Scrambled eggs. Some bacon Susan probably bought months ago, dredged up from the depths of the freezer.

Coffee.

She sets him a plate, so he sits, cautiously. Looks at her. She has bed head, red hair hanging in her eyes.

"What's this about?" he asks, voice rusty and strange to his own ears.

She shrugs. "Been thinking about what Hopper said."

He nods. Takes a bite.

"Me too."

Max looks at him then and for one second of sheer panic, he thinks she's going to cry.

"Sorry." She says.

He swallows, contemplates what the little voice is telling him to do, and blurts out, "Me too."

They eat breakfast. They both know what just happened is huge.

They're both determined not to think about it.

 

Things work for a few months. They don't get any insurance money, because Dad and Susan committed suicide, but Max does get social security and Billy hasn't managed to piss off his new boss, yet.

They are getting by well enough that they take a quick road trip back to California. They need to get Billy's stuff out of that apartment, if the landlord hasn't already chucked it. So, they load up his meager possessions in the middle of the night and he skips out on the back rent.

They aren't doing _that well_ with the money.

He lets Max play some of her shitty music on the road, and he doesn't even yell when his tiny, black and white TV slips from her fingers and tumbles down the stairs. They drive to her Dad's old house and sit in the car, staring at it. They're both thinking about the garage back in Hawkins; the one they avoid like the plague, but neither says it.

He pats her head when she tears up.

She says THANK YOU.

 

A month later, she steals his car and leaves town.

Billy is so fucking mad, he feels like any headway they made just went out the window.

He feels like the Chief is a moron.

He feels like Max may be beyond reason and he seriously just wants to beat her ass to make a point.

He feels like his dad must have thought the same thing.

He realizes what he's thinking, and calls Hopper for help.

 

Chief pulls her over about twelve miles out of town, and he's not amused.

"You're lucky it was me and not someone else." he says.

"It's like you WANT to fail at this." he says.

"Call me if your brother loses his shit too much." he says, softer. "He might be an asshole, but he's trying."

 

Max is sitting on the couch and Billy is, in fact, losing his shit. He's thrown the phone and punched the wall and he's just about paced a hole in the stretch of floor in front of her -- but he hasn't touched her and he's learned enough to know that doesn't mean he deserves an award. He hasn't even called her any names except UNGRATEFUL BRAT and damned if she didn't at least deserve it.

Finally he calms down enough to ask, "The fuck were you thinking?"

She doesn't have an answer and somehow that's worse.

He loses it all over again, tells her to get out. He's right in her face and that's too close.

She's on her feet.

"Go Max! Stay Max! Sit Max!"

He levels a murderous look at her.

"If I have to look at you another second I can't be responsible for what I might do."

 

She walks to the quarry, and it starts to rain.

Perfect.

 

She knows Billy's coming before she sees the car. She can hear it.

He grinds to a halt on the road below where she's sitting.

"Get in."

"I thought you didn't want to look at me."

"Maxine," he says, voice level, "get in the fucking car right now or I'll call Hopper."

She doesn't want to deal with _that_ again so soon. Can't face more of the Chief's disappointment.

The car is warm and dry, and Billy is staring straight ahead, jaw clenched. After a few miles, he pulls over, and she thinks "This is it, he's finally going to kill me."

But he doesn't.

He knows he's running out of options with Maxine. He won't do things the way his father did, and he can't go back to doing things the way he did before. Not after realizing how much damage it did.

"Explain yourself." he says, trying to sound neutral.

Max is looking at him. She doesn't seem to know where to begin and that is a sensation so intimately familiar that he sighs, and says, more out of desperation than anything: "Fine. I'll start."

She scoffs.

"Shut up and listen, smart ass, because you're on my last fucking nerve."

He glares at her. She glares back.

He counts to ten in his mind. Then twenty.

Takes a deep breath.

"You don't really know why you took off with the car, right? You were feeling like things were going too good, like things can't ever stay good and you'd rather be the one to fuck them up because at least way you're in control."

He glances at Max. She's staring hard at her hands in her lap. She doesn't say anything.

"Look, I get it." He pauses. No sign of life from her, so he plows ahead. "I mean, I'm the world's biggest fuck up and I have a track record of only being nice to people when I need something. You don't think you can trust me."

She keeps looking at her hands. He's waiting for a 'fuck off' but what he gets is a nod, barely perceptible, but there.

"Can't really say I blame you." He mutters. He's not sure if she hears but then there's movement in his periphery, and he can feel her eyes. It makes him vulnerable; makes him want to run, want to push her out of the car; go for cigarettes and never come back.... _anything_.

But.

At some point he's started wanting this to work.

He's thinking if she ever finds that out, he's screwed.

He shakes his head. The little voice is telling him KEEP GOING. It's drowning out the other parts.

It's time to own some shit.

"I had this fucked up idea" he begins, lighting a smoke and taking a long drag, "that I was protecting you from Dad by keeping you away from Lucas Sinclair. And don't get me wrong, Max," he glances at her, guarded eyes in a hard face, "I was protecting my own ass, too. You know how he was."

She gives him one nod, and he wants to laugh, even though it's not funny. She's not giving an inch, and he knows right where she learned it. His chicken came home to roost, all right.

"Even though you had no clue that was what I was up to, in my head....fuck if I know......it was like I was trying to keep you from driving off a cliff and you just kept hitting the gas."

He steals a side long glance, and she takes the opportunity to pluck the cigarette right out of his hand. She takes a deep drag; doesn't even have the courtesy to look sheepish.

"I didn't know," she mutters, sounding defensive, "you coulda just told me what your deal was."  
  
Billy bites back the urge to snap. "In case you haven't noticed," he replies, as evenly as possible, "the way I grew up didn't exactly teach me the worlds best communication skills."

She hands his cigarette back, wordless.

"I know," he says, "it's a shitty excuse."

"Yeah," She lifts a shoulder, "it is. But it's the truth. And I get it. Maybe nobody else would, but I do."

He studies her in the low light of the dash, lets a couple minutes drift by.

 "That's the same way I lost my friends." She says, at last.

"Friends are dangerous," he agrees, "they ask questions you can't answer. They think they're helping but they're only making shit worse."

She nods. "Lucas thought he could fix things, right?" She catches his eye, and they exchange sardonic glances. "In his family, somethings wrong and they have a family meeting and work it out."

Billy scoffs. "And Dad thought white skin made him better."

"Yeah," she pauses, "but the thing was, he didn't know any other way. He thought, like, if we talked about it enough, or made a plan to talk to Neil, or called Hopper--"

She lets that dangle, and it's fine, Billy knows this path by heart; doesn't need a compass.

He sighs.

"When I beat up Steve Harrington, part of it was because I hated how _good_ he was. No problems at home. King of the high school." He taps the steering wheel like he's ticking offenses off a list. "Drove a BMW. Lived in a nice house. People _respected_ him. And I know what I did to him was wrong. I do. But you know.....when you're life's a mess and someone like that comes along--"

"I know."

"And Lucas was just--"  
  
"Neil?"

He blows out a stream of smoke. Nods. "That and I needed someone to hate. I can't put it all on Dad."

Max seems to still in his peripheral vision; solidify.

"I know it wasn't just Dad." he repeats. "I told myself I was trying to help but c'mon....I mean I knew I was taking my shit out on you, too. You get pushed around all your life it starts to feel good when you get to be the one doing the pushing. Not gonna lie." He pauses, takes a deep breath and muses about how fucking hard honesty is.  "After you drugged me, I twisted it around in my head like you were an ungrateful bitch who wouldn't take my advice. Like I was the victim."

"You coulda killed Steve." She says, but her voice is flat, non-accusatory.

"I know." He replies. "I think I should thank you for knocking my ass out or I'd probably be somebody's prison bitch right about now."

"Your Dad used me as an excuse to control you," she says, slowly, "and you used him as an excuse to control me. I get that. But the thing is, he was a grown up. You were just a kid."

Billy's throat closes up and he just sits there trying to breathe, because he can _feel_ the way she's looking at him and fuck if he can take empathy from her. Fuck if he can.

"I can see how you felt like you hated everyone." She looks in her lap now, mutters, "How you could hate me."

"Max--"

She changes the subject so fast it feels like violence, wiping angrily at her eyes, "I hated people with their fucking sympathy, more than anything."

"I'm sorry."

She turns her head to look out the window, into the darkness. Mutters something he didn't even realize he needed to hear: "It's ok."

The only sounds now are the whirring of the heater, but he doesn't push it. He figures they don't need to do all their soul searching in one night. He's not going anywhere.

After a few minutes, he clears his throat. "Guess Jim Hopper never gave up."

"No kidding," she looks at him with an eye roll, "I would have been throwing us a bon voyage party the second I found the bodies."

 

 Billy Hargrove knows he's an asshole. But he doesn't so much revel in it, anymore.

The next day, he gives Max a very animated lecture about how she's not allowed to touch his car for at least another year. And then he lets it go.

Because Max is an asshole sometimes, too. And he gets that.

 

Over the next few months, he starts to notice signs of the nerd patrol. There's a note in the laundry, carefully folded up like a football, with her name on it.

Next comes a friendship bracelet of the type he's seen Jane Hopper making.

Eventually, a walkie shows up in her bedroom again.

Soon after, the pasty little Beyers kid is on their doorstep, his mom waving hesitantly from the car.

Mike and the weird kid, the one with the fake teeth -- they are next.

Lucas Sinclair is last. He's a tough kid, and Billy's surprised to discover he actually likes him best. He catches him on the back porch one day, and they have a man to man.

Billy apologizes for real.

They've rebuilt a lot of bridges, but the one that bothers him most is still in embers.

So, one night while Max is at a sleepover, probably smoking the cigarettes she stole from his top drawer and drinking beers snuck from the Chief's fridge, he heads to the bar.

By the grace of some God he gave up on long ago, Harrington is there, with an empty seat beside him.

Billy sits down.

Brown eyes flicker in his direction.

"Hargrove."

"Harrington." He says. There must be something in his voice, because Steve turns around fully, and looks. Billy spits it out: "Sorry, man. About the thing," He sucks at apologizing, and he knows it. "you know, in '84. What I did -- it wasn't right. None of it."

They stare at each other a few seconds and then Steve shoulder checks him lightly and says, "Just buy me a beer, asshole. We're all good."


	2. Educating Billy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time lapse to the one year anniversary of Neil and Susan's death. 
> 
> The Party is back in Max's life, and she and Billy have made some progress, but still have a long way to go.
> 
> Steve and the kids come over unexpectedly, Billy finally finds out about demodogs.
> 
> Steve makes him a proposition.

One year on from Susan and Neil's death finds Billy and Max eating pizza in an unfamiliar living room, surrounded by half unpacked boxes; Friday the 13th blaring out of the TV.

They've recently moved, that "one month plus security thing" was brutal on his wallet, thank you very much, into a house that's actually in worse shape than the old one.....but at least it doesn't have death and bad memories lurking down every corridor. And since that was the point, neither really cares that the woodwork doesn't match, the floorboards creak, and the toilet doesn't flush right.

 OK, fine, the toilet thing is gross, but whatever.

At this point in his life, Billy Hargrove is regularly cursing "the little voice". But he's also listening to it more. It's a weird, _weird_ place to be.

He cuts his eyes to Max. She's newly 16 and ranking about a 50 on a scale of 1 to 10 for teen girl moodiness, although she seems pretty satisfied by watching Jason Voorhees in his ski mask, slashing people up, at the moment. In an attempt to spend the anniversary as quietly as possible, he'd sprung for the cheese and pepperoni, and even let her have a beer she doesn't have to sneak.

"Don't tell anyone." He'd said, holding the can just out of reach.

"No shit, Sherlock."  
  
"Max," he says, giving her a hard look, "for real. Not even your nerdy friends. Maria turned out pretty cool, for a social worker, but shit gets around."

And Maria actually is pretty cool, despite her earlier doubts about the situation. At some point, she seemed to have decided they are under dogs worth rooting for, and now spends an hour every other week mediating while they loudly air grievances in her depressing, county issued office space.

Max salutes, and he dismisses the urge to smack her; settles for an eye roll.

See? Progress. He's got it comin' out the ass.

They are 30 minutes into the movie when someone knocks on the door and Max jumps so high she spills her beer all over the couch.

"What the--" he's up and glaring down at her through heavy lids, "did you invite your little shitbird friends over or something? I told you I don't want a fuss."

"No!" she says. "Who invites people over to celebrate their parents dying?"

"We are not _celebr_ \--" he's interrupted by more knocking, changes track, "--that is now _my_ beer." He plucks the dripping can out of her hand and sets it on the coffee table, before heading for the door and giving it an irritated yank.

What he finds at the door momentarily derails his attitude. Not only is the nerd patrol on his front porch, they've brought company.

"Harrington?"

"Hey, buddy," says Steve, like they're life long best friends and not two guys who make awkward small talk at the bar on occasion, "kids said they wanted to come see Max tonight."

Billy zones in on Lucas. Ironically, this is the one he has the best relationship with. Lucas is tough, logical, and he tells the truth even when it sucks -- all traits he can vastly appreciate. "What the hell?"

"Figured she could use some company." Lucas replies, deftly weaseling himself under Billy's arm and coming inside. "Mad Max! What's up?"

And just like that, they have guests. Steve stands on the doorstep, looking uncertain.

"Wanna come in, Mother Hen?" asks Billy, smirking.

"No, yeah. I was just, uh," his hand shoots to the back of his neck, "you know, I mean it's shitty out."

Billy steps onto the porch and takes an exaggerated look around. It _is_ raining, but not hard. Not enough that Steve really needs to act as chauffer, because, let's face it, those kids aren't made of sugar. Nobody's in danger of melting. "Yeah, man. All this....water. It's deadly."

"Listen," Steve narrows his eyes, "they might be able to drive, but they don't have cars yet. They needs rides sometimes. Don't be a dick."

"Dick is my default." He shrugs, smirking some more. Then, right when he can see Harrington's clearly flustered and turning to leave, he says, "Nah, c'mon, I'm just bustin' your balls. I'm not really in any position to talk. I still have eighteen more months of permanent babysitter duty. Come in and have a beer."

"Counting down the months, huh?" Steve stands there with that ridiculous hair, regarding him, then steps back onto the porch. "Yeah, ok." He says, "Just one though. Driving."

Driving. God, he's still such a golden boy, thinks Billy, as they walk back through the door. The quiet of the living room has turned into something like a rock concert in their absence. Little Byers is in his kitchen making popcorn he wasn't even aware he owned, Lucas is sitting way too close to Max, and Dustin is already bickering with Mike over some trivial, nobody-else-on-earth-gives-a-rats-ass-about detail from the movie.

He arches an eyebrow at Max, and she snuggles an inch closer. She pops a kiss onto Lucas' cheek and sticks her tongue out.

Steve has not missed this interaction, because of course he hasn't. "Eighteen months, huh?" He practically purrs with self satisfaction, "Makes sense now."

There's popcorn all over the floor, the place smells vaguely of teen hormones and farts, and they're half way through the movie when someone slips. It's not a big slip, but Billy is sharp and looks like a brainless pretty boy, so he's pretty regularly underestimated, and this is no exception. Some blonde bimbo in the movie bites the dust, in full bloody regalia, when Dustin snickers, pops his thumb at the screen and says, "She shoulda had a nail bat!"

The room seems to still, only for a second, but long enough for Billy to notice the furtive glances sent in his direction. Long enough for him to realize, way down in his gut, that the _something more_ he always felt under the surface of this shit stain town was not, in fact, in his imagination.

There's a loud knock at the door then, making everyone jump, and Max makes a suspiciously hasty exit to answer it.

"Hey, Red."

It's the chief, whom, at some point in the past year has traded _kid_ , for _red,_ with regard to Max. Billy figures he's probably dropping his spooky, curly headed daughter off, because sure, why the hell not? Wasn't half of Hawkins High already here?

He and Hopper exchange nods and he sees the guy do a quick visual cruise around the living room to take in the lay of the land before he leaves his precious cargo behind.

"One hour." he grumbles to the girl, before pulling her into a tight, one arm hug and letting her wiggle away. Then he leaves, quick as he came.

 "Maxine." says Billy, and fuck him but it's sharp. He can't help it. Someone has obviously planned this shit, despite his express wishes for a quiet, anonymous night; his stepsister is sitting _way_ too close to a person with ownership of a dick, and now the nail bat is burrowing under his skin like a tick with a bad attitude. "Kitchen."

"But--"

"Now."

He goes in the kitchen and waits. After a minute or so, here she comes, looking equal parts embarrassed and nervous.

"Can you not treat me like a 3 year old in front of my friends?"

"How did all these kids know to come here tonight? And Hopper?"  

Max looks at him like he's crazy. "I don't -- they know it's the one year anniversary, ok? They're not dumb. They probably did it to, you know," she slows her speed so it seems like she's addressing a toddler,"be nice? See, it's a thing some people--"

 " _Don't_."

She sighs. "What's the big deal? Plans change. Besides, I don't know about you, but this is making me feel better than I have all week."  
  
He studies her, and she studies him back. "The fuck with the nail bat, Max? You think I don't remember that?"

"Dustin." She mutters venomously. "Big mouth."

"Answer me." He grinds out, "There's something up around here, and I've been patient. I put my ass on the line for you this year, and you know I hate secrets."

Lies, he means, and they both know it. He has a thing about lying, and as far as he's concerned dishonesty and secrecy are back door cousins.

"Look," she says, shifting feet uncomfortably, "I can't make that decision on my own. OK? It's not that simple."  
  
"No." He says, voice flat, "Not OK."

She sighs. "Give me a few days to work on them--"

"Now. Or I go throw everyone out and if you think you're embarrassed now...."

"Billy."

"Max?"

Steve Harrington pops his head in the kitchen. "Everything ok?"

Max turns to him, hands in the air. "He wants to know." she says, sounding exasperated and dangerously close to tears.

As it sinks in that Steve Fucking Harrington knows about a situation that he's not allowed to, Billy finds his blood pressure shooting from _angry_  to _over it_. He makes for the living room but she grabs the back of his tee shirt.

"OK!" she squeaks, "I'll tell you! Please! Just don't be _weird_! I finally have my friends back!"

Steve watches them scuffle, heaves a sigh, and heads for the living room, calling for quiet as he goes. Gets it pretty quickly, too, Billy notes with irritation. Way faster than he, himself, could have.

"We have to tell Billy." He says, at last, when the eyes are on him. The silence explodes into a chorus of outrage. Even with Max tugging a hole into the back of his shirt, Billy can pick out a variety of denials ranging from _no way_ to _you_ _fucking crazy, Steve?_

The only one who doesn't say anything is Lucas. He glances toward the situation in the kitchen, clears his throat, and loudly says, "OK."

Everyone stops to stare.

"That's just because you wanna get in Max's pants!" Mike Wheeler blurts out, causing Billy to casually wonder what size casket the kid will require.  

At that, Max lets go of his shirt and practically _flies_ into the living room. "HEY!" she bellows, "NOT COOL."

Lucas rolls his eyes. He looks from Max to Steve to Billy, seems to steel his resolve.

"He's changed a lot in the last couple years," he says, "and I should know. I know Max better than anyone. I'm her best friend. She said he's trying to be a better person, and if it's good enough for her, it's good enough for me."

Billy's face feels like it's on fire upon hearing those words. He realizes, in an avalanche of shame, that threatening to embarrass her in order to get his way was a dick move. _Abuse of power_ , the little voice hisses at him, _chip off the old block_.

She doesn't look at him, but Steve does. He seems to catch his moment of vulnerability, and lifts a shoulder.

"Yes." says Hopper's kid in a clear, succinct voice, before giving Mike an elbow and admonishing, "Not nice, what you said."

Steve clears his throat. "Well, that's 4 to 2 for telling him."

 "I never said how I would vote." Max's head jerks up, face twisted.

"Even without your vote, we'd still win." Steve reminds her, gently.

She glares at Billy through the doorway.

"Max gets the final word."  he says. They exchange a few seconds of sibling-not-sibling telepathy that most involves _sorry for pulling a Neil on you,_ on his part, and a big old _fuck off_ , on hers.

She huffs audibly, but mutters a begrudging, "Fine."

So begins the education of Billy Hargrove. They talk over themselves a lot, and there's a fair amount of bickering (because, he notes, they can't do _anything_ without bickering) but eventually they lay things out, right up to his balls almost becoming pincushions.

He ignores the intense level of joy that part seems to bring them.

When they're done, he notices that Jane Hopper hasn't said a word. In fact, if he's honest, she's looking pretty annoyed. "You guys left some parts out." she says.

"He doesn't deserve _that much_ trust." Mike says, eyeing Billy with blatant animosity, "And Hopper will kill you."

She gives Mike a soft look, then promptly ignores him.

"My Papa was a bad man," she begins, matter of factly, "just like yours."

 

 

 

That night, Steve drives all the little shits home, and then he comes back.

Max is asleep on the couch and Billy is sitting there feeling disgruntled that she's wearing his Megadeath tee shirt without permission, and trying to process what just happened.

"Life was so much easier when I didn't give a shit about anything." he mutters to himself.

_That time never really existed, dumbass_ , says the little voice, but he doesn't have time to reflect on the honesty in that statement, because the front door pops open and here comes Mr. Hair Club For Men. He waltzes right toward the kitchen, grabs two beers out of the fridge, and parks his (mighty fine, but who's looking, certainly not Billy) ass in the recliner.  

He can't believe the balls on this guy.

"You fucking mind?" he demands.

"Nah," says Steve, nonplussed, "not really." He holds out a cold one like it's some kind of gift and not beer Billy actually purchased with his own damn money. "You feel better or worse now that you know?"

Billy stares at him. Tries to be pissed off, but it's been a long day.

"Things make a hell of a lot more sense," he admits, grudgingly, "but that's all I got for right now."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Harrington. What's your deal? Why are you here?"

Brown eyes meet blue. Billy breaks first, pretends to stare at his beer. It unnerves him. He never breaks first, and he most decidedly does not want to think about why he did in this case.

"I came back because they don't know the whole story. There's more you need to know, but it's a secret."

He pointedly glances at Max.

Billy rolls his eyes, calls Steve a drama queen under his breath, and gives her ankle a healthy shake. When she doesn't stir, he climbs reluctantly out of the chair and heaves her off the couch in a movement that looks far easier than it is -- Max is fit but _solid_.  He deposits her onto her unmade bed and tosses a ratty afghan over her on his way to the door.

Steve is regarding him thoughtfully, but he can sense the amusement around the edges, and it makes him defensive.

"She's still a bitch." He mutters, but it lacks the venom it once had and all Steve gives him in response is an arched eyebrow. "Fine," he grumbles, "what's the big story?"

Steve takes a long drink of beer, sets the half empty can on the coffee table, and says, "There are still monsters out in the woods. They didn't all go back in. Some of them," he pauses, thinking, "I don't know, they mutated or something. Hopper can explain it better than I can but, when they couldn't go home, they sort of....adapted."

This new revelation is met with silence, followed by, "Fuck you, Harringon. Very funny. Now go home. I've had a long day."

"Bill," he says, and his voice is dead serious, "you think I voted for telling you out of the kindness of my heart? Huh? Think about it. If anyone in this town knows how hard you can swing, it's me."  
  
_Oh buddy_ , thinks Billy, _you have positively no idea how hard I swing_. But then he thinks about the prospect of otherworldly monsters in the woods of Hawkins; of red headed stepsisters wielding nail studded baseball bats; of Steve's face under his fists.

"What's your point?" He asks, and if he sounds a little sad then, well, fuck it. He _is_ sad.

"I've been trying to think of a way to tell you for months now." Steve says, then nods toward Max's bedroom, "And nobody wants them to know, either, because it's too damn dangerous now. They're just _kids_."

Billy chews on that a minute. "By my calculations they're the same age you and Jon and Nancy were when little Byers went missing."

" _Will_. And yeah. But they weren't as dangerous then. I mean, for one thing, Jane used to be able to sense them but.....now they seem to be slipping right under her radar."

"Adapting." Billy mutters thoughtfully. "So you guys are trying to kill them on your own?"  
  
"Yeah, but there aren't enough of us since Jon and Nance left for school. Now, it's only me, Hopper, and Joyce."

"So that's what you want? To recruit me to this monster killing dream team of yours?"

"Would you want Max out there instead?" Steve retorts. His answer arrives in the form of a glare that implies painful death and a shallow grave. He shrugs. "It's a good stress reliever, seems to me you could use that."

"Maybe."

Steve considers the tight, defensive tone that means he's clearly touched a nerve. He takes a moment to marvel at what a year of legal guardianship has done to Billy Hargrove, former King of _looking out for number one_ , now worrying about Max's safety and trying to reign in that temper.

"Hey," he says, "if it helps, you're doing better than anyone expected."  
  
"Oh yeah," Billy drawls, "that's real nice of you, Harrington. I feel a shit-ton better now. Everybody had bets going, huh?"

"I lost twenty bucks." Steve replies, unashamed. "So, you in or what?"


	3. None of the Respect, All of the Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max and Hopper-centric, from Billy's POV. Mostly just sets the tone for how life is going. Probably not really necessary to the over all arc but, hey, it's fan fiction, I'm not going for a Pulitzer so....what the hell.

 

No less than 24 hours later, Billy finds himself sitting across from Chief Hopper, watching his eyebrows practically knit themselves into a sweater. He's torn between wanting to laugh his ass off and wanting to kick his step sister's for landing him here.

Hopper tosses a carefully rolled down paper bag across the desk and grimaces.

"Look," he says, "I paid for the uh," he offers up a vague wave of the hand at the offending package, "the stuff. And I talked him into not pressing charges. But she probably shouldn't go into the drugstore for a while," he clears his throat, avoids Billy's eyes, "or, uh, you know.....again. Ever."

Now he definitely wants to laugh. Hopper looks like he'd rather gouge his own eye out with a rusty screwdriver than have this conversation, and Billy doesn't get it. What is it with old guys? He's been with a lot of girls (a _lot_ ), is intimately familiar with the female reproductive system and, frankly, doesn't get what the big deal is. Girls bleed. It is what it is.

He spends a distracted moment thinking about the fact that every girl in Hawkins is now batting her eyelashes at him due to some weird thing chicks have about Mr. Moms, and how he's not interested in a single one of them.

Spends another 30 seconds thinking about Patrick Swayze rumbling on the big screen, then he shuts _that_ shit right down

Hopper is looking at him like an irritated school teacher (a look he knows all too well) so he mutters a half hearted, "Sorry, what?"

"I _said_ , for the record, I think Harrington made a big mistake telling you about what we do."

It takes Billy a second to realize what he's talking about, but once he does, it raises his hackles. He can't seem to earn this guys respect, and he shouldn't care, but he does.

He smirks. "Noted." He says, grabbing the offending package, "We done here?"

"Yeah." Hopper stares at him a second longer then, as if he suddenly remembers the real reason Billy is parked in his office, goes for the door with rapid enthusiasm. "Leave her some money now and then," he murmurs before shoving him out the door, "and don't be hard on her. I think she misses her mom."

Oh, sure, just leave some money around. _That's a good one,_ thinks Billy.  He puts his head down, leaves the office, and tosses the bag into Max's lap, where she sits outside the door.

"C'mon," he grumbles, "let's go."

He doesn't say anything while they streak down the road toward home. It's not because he's pissed at Max, though he figures it doesn't hurt to make her sweat, considering she _did_ just knock over a drug store. He's busy stewing over Hopper's lack of faith and Harrington's inexplicable abundance of it, unsure as to which disturbs him more.  He glances at her when they're almost at the driveway. She's staring out the window, arms knotted up like some game of cat's cradle gone wrong. 

Before the car is even in park, she peels out of there and goes directly to her room. He hears the all too familiar sound of her propping a chair under the knob and stops short outside the door.

This is, really, the last thing he needs right now.

"C'mon, Max."

"I _don't_ want to talk about it." She replies succinctly. "I'd rather _die_."

He rolls his eyes. "That can be arranged.".

No response. He lights a cigarette, sits on the couch to smoke it, and thinks things over. Maxine is a sneaky little shit, and he lets a lot of things go (like his ever dwindling supply of cigarettes or the fact that she spends more time sucking face with Lucas _behind_ the arcade than she does playing games _in_ it) but this really kind of takes the cake. Maria would definitely say they have to talk about it.

On the other hand, the Chief is probably on to something about her missing Susan, and _that_ is a topic he'd rather avoid.

In the end, he decides that getting busted by, not only the store manager, but also the Chief of police, for stealing tampons.....is probably one of the most mortifying things a 16 year old girl can go through.

He spends the evening watching TV, drinking beer, and smoking way too many cigarettes; tells himself he's definitely _not_ staying home so Max won't be alone, even though he and the little voice both know that's a lie. Eventually, he heads to bed, where he spends a fitful night dreaming about pretty boys with big hair who want him to fight monsters and baseball bats studded with nails.

In the morning, he stumbles out, feeling distinctly un-rested, and reluctantly chooses coffee over beer, because he has to _set a good fucking example_ these days. He digs some bargain basement bacon out of the fridge. Sometimes, dealing with Maxine is like dealing with a feral kitten. A _constantly hungry_ feral kitten, he amends, because she can _eat_ _like a dude_ , a trait he'd find endlessly amusing if it weren't so brutal on his wallet.

It take approximately 12 minutes for the bacon to do it's thing. She comes shuffling out, looking miserable. Her eyes are swollen and her hair is-- "Jesus," he says, "you need a shower."

She sits down; glares at him. "Shut up."

Right. Might as well get this over with.

"Listen, I know you miss your mother--"

She's up out of the chair but he sticks a finger in her chest because fuck if he's going to go through getting her out of that bedroom again.

"--and I know you hate your mother, at the same time." He says. "I get that. I do. So, whatever. You don't want to talk about that with me, it's cool. Save it for Maria, if you want."

Max shoots him a skeptical glance, but she does sit back down.

That, my friends, is the power of bacon.

"You coulda just asked me for a few bucks," he says, "but since that's apparently not an option....I'll keep some money in my top dresser drawer for you. You know my top drawer, right? The one you think I don't know you steal cigarettes out of?" She studies her fingernails like one of them just grew a mustache and started quoting Shakespeare. "Yeah." he says, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Thought so."

She glances up then, and God she looks so miserable he almost kind of wishes they were huggers, because it looks like she really needs one. Maybe he can drive her over to the Byers house. Drop her off, pick her up in 10 minutes, freshly hugged.  

"Sorry." She mutters.

Billy laughs. He can't help it -- he's been holding that shit in for almost 24 hours now.

"Max," he says, " _don't do it again_. But....in this case? It was worth it just to see the look on Hopper's face."

 

 

Later that evening, the very same Jim Hopper has him pinned, nail bat resting uncomfortably on his chest, and he doesn't feel quite so much like laughing.

"If I was a demodog," he informs him, "I'd be eating your guts right now."

Billy pushes upward, letting the nails bite into his chest, forcing the Chief to move. He's got a gun powder burn in the crook of his right thumb, a sore shoulder from swinging that damn bat, and singed right eyebrow.

He's in _no mood_.

When he gets home, all he's thinking about it a long, hot shower, but Maxine is standing in the living room like an angry wife out of an old time cartoon -- all she's missing are the curlers and the rolling pin.

"We were supposed to do the 'drive and yell' tonight." She hurls at him. 'Drive and yell' is Maxine's _charming_ nickname for their rather explosive driving lessons.

"Shit."

"Yeah, shit."

"I forgot."

"How am I ever going to get my license at this rate? Lucas and Mike already have--"

"I _know_." He goes to the kitchen. Makes a face at the pan of congealed mac and cheese sitting on the stove. "But you need more practice. You drive like a maniac."

"You taught me!"

"Yeah, Max, and I told you--"

"You told me I should drive better than you. And I shouldn't solve problems with my fists like you did. Or smoke. Like you _do._ And you tell me that doesn't make you a giant hypocritical asshole."

"I never said I wasn't a hypocrite. And I'm definitely an asshole." He says, head stuck in the fridge. "I just said you should try to be _better_. You really want to repeat all my dumb shit mistakes?"

She makes a sound that sounds suspiciously like a 'fuck you' camouflaged in a cough, and storms off to her room.

Awesome.

"You know," he hollers at her back, "I let you off the hook today, you little felon! Why don't you cut me some slack?"

 _God_ , she's impossible. He takes one last look at what was passing for dinner, and crashes on the couch; daydreams about Steve Harrington dying a slow, painful death for making his life even more complicated.


	4. Enter Demodogs, Stage Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see how the demodogs are evolving. Steve and Billy hangin' out, killing things. Some Hopper and Max sprinkled in here and there.

 

 

Once school starts again, things get easier in some ways, trickier in others. Max is always staying after (sometimes clubs, sometimes detention -- sometimes she says for a club but he knows it's really detention), or at the arcade (or behind it), or playing D&D with the nerd patrol. That's good, because if he's out doing the monster thing, she doesn't notice.

On the other hand, two of the kids have passed their driver's test and are officially licensed, which means they're harder to nail down. He can't just drop her off somewhere and expect her to stay put. Now that they're mobile, those little shits could show up anywhere, any time.

Luckily, Sinclair's parents won't let him drive with other kids in the car. Mike, on the other hand, is a wild card. His parents can't stand each other (he would know, having gone a few lukewarm rounds with Mrs. Wheeler) and so nobody really has the energy to worry what he's up to. He tries to buy some time by telling Max she's not allowed to ride with him until he's been on the road a few months, but, honestly? There's no guarantee she'll obey, and he's acutely aware of _that_ fact.

At the moment, the kids are all crammed into Wheeler's basement, which smells like moth balls and puberty, in case you're wondering, and he's staked out behind a tree with the Chief of police.

Hopper is still less than inspired by his presence.

"I can't believe Harrington thinks this is a good idea." He says, _again_ , and Billy doesn't bother to argue. Fact is, nobody's ever put this kind of faith in him before (Susan has, reminds the voice) and as much as the Chief's disgruntlement annoys him, it's also familiar; puts him on solid ground.

This is the first time he's going to actually see one of these monsters, and his neurons are firing in a way that he normally has to be pissed off for. It's.....an interesting sensation, but he doesn't have much time to examine it, because right at that moment something materializes behind the older man, seemingly out of thin air, and Joyce screams from her and Steve's spot across the clearing.

Hopper is fast, he's gotta give him that, but the thing is fast, too, and it has the element of surprise. He ducks just as sticky tentacles sweep the air where his head was only seconds before, and Billy gets a surge of adrenaline that makes him soar. He gets to the side of the thing; swings that bat with all the force of someone who hasn't been able to vent their rage in months, and _screams_ with laughter.

The monster stumbles, turns and makes a motion that looks for all the world like it's sizing him up, then opens it's petal head and roars

Billy roars back.

"C'mon, mother fucker!"

Next thing he knows, he's flanked on both sides by Hopper, Steve, and Joyce, in full on _mother bear_ mode. Steve and Hopper both fire at once, bringing it to it's.....knees? He figures they're a close approximation to knees, at least.

In a blink (before he's even decided if they're knees or not knees, really), Joyce is literally _on_ the thing. She drives a long, sharp knife into the back of it's head. He knows from his training that the head is the best "kill spot" on these things, so he's not surprised when it falls to the ground. What does surprise him is the way she clamps onto the thing with her knees and rides it right down, before wiping the sweat off her brow with a grin, nonchalant as you please.

"One more down." She announces, triumphantly.

Billy's (thinking Joyce kind of turned him on there, but that's another story) bouncing on the balls of his feet, literally, wishing another one would come along because _damn that felt good_ , when he notices Steve looking at him. There's something new on his face that wasn't there before.

He likes the way _that_ looks, too.

"You're fast." He says.

"Yeah, well. I did learn one thing from Dear old Dad."  
  
"Quick reflexes." says Hopper, sounding dark and knowing.

Billy nods; tries not to stare because the Chief of police is appraising  him, and for the first time since he's met him, he feels like he might not come up short.

He's itching to change the subject. "That felt good."

"It did." Agrees Joyce, with a smile that fades too fast. "But that was new, wasn't it?"

Steve nods, looking grim. "Was it me, or did it just....appear?"

"If they keep evolving at this rate...." says Hopper, but he doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. Even Billy, as the new guy, can see where this is heading. If those monsters can start popping up with no warning, materializing out of thin air, the four of them won't be enough.

 _All of_ _Hawkins_ won't be enough.

 

 

 

Early snow, a week before Thanksgiving, finds Billy in the passenger seat of Steve's beamer, his brain weighed down with thoughts of the holidays. This is his and Max's second turkey day sans parents, and while they don't have to worry about one wrong word ending in a plate to the face.....store brand chicken nuggets the previous year had left a lot to be desired.

And then comes Christmas. Max picked up a job bussing tables at the diner, but he's not about to take that money for bills so it doesn't really change the fact that they're broke. He knows she doesn't expect much.

Still.

What kind of shitty guardian can't get their little ward of court at least _something_ to open on Christmas day?

He's thinking about all this while Steve drives along at exactly the speed limit, a fact he would absolutely be riding his ass about if he weren't so distracted, when suddenly the brakes are slammed on and he damn near goes through the windshield. Thanks to Max's 'drive and yell' sessions, he's gotten into the habit of wearing a seat belt (he's found at least one thing to be a good role model about), and it's a good thing, too, or he'd be toast.

"The fuck, Harrington?" he snarls, but then his eye catches Steve's face; he follows his gaze.

There's something in the road.  Something....invisible and yet.....not.

They look at each other.

"Think we can take it alone?" asks Steve.

They've been hunting together, with Hopper and Joyce, for about 5 weeks now. They know each others strengths and weaknesses like instinct; can toss weapons back and forth without looking, and bicker like an old married couple (Joyce's words, to which Hopper had rolled his eyes, but nodded).

He doesn't have to ask twice.

Billy is out of the car in a flash; wants another shot of the ol' adrenaline. Likes, actually, _loves_ that he has found a productive way to work out his boundless anger.

"Whoa, gunner," says Steve, "take this."

He tosses him the bat, saunters around the back of the car and gets a gun out of his trunk. Closes it with a nice, loud, satisfying _bang_ that makes the swirling, slithering, snow covered shadow stop.

They hear the tell tale snuffle-huff of a curious demodog, but when it shifts, just as they are tensing for action, it's _gone_.

They notice the foot prints too late, a millisecond, in fact, before Billy goes down hard, on his back; blinding pain as invisible teeth sink into his calf.

The only thing he can think, the only most ironic fucking thing in the world he can think is, _thank God for Neil_.

Because, thanks to Neil, he has a high pain threshold and the ability to think while his body is screaming.

While Steve is screaming.

The thing starts dragging him down the slick, ice covered road with surprising speed and he swings, wild, pulling himself up like a sit up and swinging toward his own feet.

He nails himself in the thigh and nearly passes out.

There's the sharp _pop, pop_ of gunfire, and the thing slows, it's bulk forming a shadowy outline again, under the snow.

It's distracted.

He lunges one more time with the bat, hard as he can. It connects and he's free -- scrambling on slippery blacktop, half crawling, half running, and he can feel the damn thing with it's hot breath on his back; realizes too late that he's dropped the bat.

Another _pop_ rings out and he feels the earth tremble behind him. Everything slows down and he's knocked flat -- pinned to the frozen ground by a slimy, now fully visible beast that is resting it's ugly mug on his chest.

Dead.

"Christ, Hargrove." Yells Steve, slipping and sliding toward him, "You ok?"

"You fucking think I'm ok?" he growls, hating the feeling of being pinned; the pain of his injuries quickly filling the spots left by his fading adrenaline.

Steve doesn't bother pushing the thing off him; goes right to the leg, instead. He feels his pant leg pushing up, hears the all too familiar sound of a belt being pulled quickly through loops, and feels it go around his leg, high above the wound.

He throws his head back against the ice, immediately regrets it, and wishes for a smoke.

"God you're such a fucking boy scout."

"Shut up asshole, where else are you hurt?"

"My thigh," says Billy, "and I know you'd love to get my pants off but--"

That particular train of thought is interrupted by the sound of wheels crunching to a stop beside them, doors slamming, and Hopper's size twelves coming to rest by his head.

"What the hell were you guys thinking?" He doesn't even try not to yell, is angry enough to pull the monster off Billy's chest by himself. "I ought to beat the shit out of both of you! You know how hard it is to take one of these down with four of us, why would you even--" he stops short, glares at Billy, "you reckless son of a bitch!"

"It was my idea." Steve says, "We were on our way to meet you guys and we almost hit it."

Hopper stands there breathing heavily. He lights up a smoke, takes a few shaky drags, and says, "Fine, in that case you're a _pair_ of reckless SOBs."  


 

 

Max is sitting on the ratty, frayed recliner, beside the ratty, frayed couch, looking at her stepbrother, who is snoring loudly on the couch. His jeans are hacked off like shorts on one side and he has bandages around his thigh and calf.

Steve is in their kitchen, cooking what may, quite possibly, be the first edible meal ever made in the place. She gets up and stands by the fridge. She's trying to give him the stare down that Billy always uses to get her to crack under pressure, but it's not working. Underneath that hair, Steve is a lot tougher than he looks, in a multitude of ways.

He ignores her.

"Tell me what happened, again?" she asks, at length.

"I already told you about a hundred times," he says, chopping onions, barely acknowledging her, "we spun out, he didn't have his seat belt on, and he went right out the door."

"That asshole is always on me about the seat belt."

Steve shrugs. "Well," he says, "once he's better you'll have one more thing to bust his balls about."

"Mmm."

The whole thing sounds pretty cockamamie to her, but she can see she's getting no where. I mean, shouldn't he have a head wound or something? How does a person fly out of a moving vehicle without a head wound? And that leg was bleeding like a fucker, she'd seen Steve change it once already and they'd only been there a few hours.

She goes back in the living room. Blue eyes meet hers, and all her skepticism is replaced by much more relief than she wants to acknowledge.

She sits on the edge of the couch.

"The hell, Billy?" she asks, trying to sound tough but mostly sounding scared.

"Don't do that." He mumbles, in response to her poorly hidden anxiety. "I'm fine."

Steve comes barreling in at the sound of his voice. "Hey buddy," he says, too fast; too forced, "you remember what happened?"

Max is watching them carefully. She notices a muscle twitch in her step brother's face.

"No."

She listens while Steve gives Billy the exact same version he'd just given to her, in the kitchen; notices the incredulous glare he sends him at the seatbelt part.

She moves to the recliner and crosses her arms, wheels turning.

She's learned more about Billy in the past year, than she ever did in all the years at home. She's learned that _put a coat on, shithead_ means _like it or not_ , _I care about you_ , that _Maria wouldn't like it_ means _I want to say no but I don't want to be the heavy_ ; that _Max_ generally means she's trying his patience, while _Maxine_ means he's reaching critical mass and will, at this point, have no problem being the heavy.

And she's learned one more thing: the little face twitch means he's hiding something.


	5. Holiday "Cheer"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holidays and character development.
> 
> Basically a little fluff and humor squeezed in between monster killing and all the drama about to go down next.

 

 

 

Dustin's mother invites them for Thanksgiving.

"C'mon Billy," Max wheedles, "I don't want chicken nuggets again, and I don't want to spend all day thinking about _them_."

"Low blow." he notes drily. "You can go eat with the cat lady. I'll even give you a ride. I'm good with chicken nuggets."

She huffs, crosses her arms. "I'm not going without you."  
  
"Then I guess you're not going."

There's a pause. He doesn't know why he's giving her such a hard time, exactly, he just knows that his leg still aches, his wallet's still empty, and it feels too much like charity.

"Steve's coming." She says at last, as if that changes anything.

"So."

"So, you're friends now, right? Friends hang out together."

He glares at her through his eyelashes, but there's no bite. He knows he's being curmudgeonly, is kind of touched that she won't go without him.

Also, Steve.

She senses his crumbling resolve and bats her eyelashes. Honest to fuck, bats her eyelashes.

"Jesus, ok" he grumbles, '"just don't do that again."

And so it is that Billy Hargrove finds himself in an afghan covered rocker recliner, with a small, purring loaf of feline on his lap. He's deeply, _deeply_ mourning the death of his status as local badass, while Mrs. Henderson shows Max her "Cat o'the Month" calendar. 

"We should get a cat." Max calls to him from the dining room.

"I should smother you in your sleep for bringing me here." he mutters under his breath.

Dustin plops into the chair across from him.

"So," he says, "Max says you've been rammin' around with Steve."

Billy about spits out his drink that is, regrettably, not booze. "What?"  
  
"Yeah," the kid gives him a goofy grin, "got thrown out of his car. Badass."

"Mmmm."

"Kinda funny, you know? I mean, a few years ago you almost killed him."

Coming from anyone else, he would probably suspect this comment is meant to get his goat, but he knows enough about Dustin, at this point, to understand his communication style.

Billy glances around for Steve, sees him in the kitchen. Probably basting the turkey or some other ridiculously domestic thing that he absolutely does _not_ find endearing. Not even a little.

  
Dustin is still staring at him. Christ....just how fucking hot is it in this house?

"Water under the bridge." He says, getting up, patting his shirt for that comforting, familiar rectangle. "Gonna go have a smoke."

He catches Steve by the elbow on his way through the kitchen (dear God, he's actually mashing potatoes), and they stand on the back porch together, Billy smoking and Steve waiting.

"What's the problem?" he asks, after watching Billy suck half the cigarette down in one drag. "What's up your ass?"

"It's Dustin," he tosses his head toward the house, "I don't know. He's being weird."

"He's always weird," says Steve, sounding defensive, "we can't all be Greek gods."

Billy smirks at him through a cloud of smoke. He actually has a bit of a bone to pick with Steve, and this is as good a lead in as any. "Thanks for the seat belt bullshit, by the way. I have to hear about it every fucking time we get in the car, now."

This earns him a grin so bright it momentarily distracts him.

"I'm serious, you hear me Harrington? Believe it or not, I do have a couple lines in the sand. I hate hard drugs, and I hate dishonesty."

Steve studies him. "We're lying for a good cause." he offers, and damn it, he's not wrong. "Y'know, now that you mention it, Dustin has been asking me a lot of 'weirder than usual' questions lately."

"Max, too."

"Ah shit, you don't think--"

Billy shoots him a dark look. "I hope not. If Max is on to us, my life will get _real_ difficult. She's gonna be pissed that I kept if from her, especially after I threw that tantrum about you guys keeping them secret. And she's gonna want _in_ , which is _not_ happening." He studies a spot past Steve's head. "Look, I can't even get her to quit smoking, the last thing I need is her out hunting monsters. I know it's crazy, coming from where I was, but I am _trying_ to make this work. It'd be nice to succeed at _one fucking_ _thing_ in my life."

"I get it." says Steve, in a voice that's way too soft, and suddenly he's pissed. Pissed that he shared so much; left himself so open. He's sure the guy's going to make it weird, try to offer up some half assed psychobabble -- but then Steve clears his throat and points at the cigarette in his hand; cocks an eyebrow. 

Smartass.

"Oh, shut up." He rolls his eyes, but also shoots him a thankful glance. "Why don't you go mash some more potatoes, OK asshole?"

 

 

 

Christmas morning there is a present under their scraggly, under-watered tree, that he knows he didn't put there, and he's 99% sure Max didn't either.

He goes and pounds on her door, just in case.

"What?" She snarls, standing in the half light with her hair in her face, then, "Oh! Did Santa come?"

He smirks at her, and she flushes. She was trying to sound sarcastic, but it came out as excited.

"Santa's broke."

She shrugs. "I don't care." She's on her way past the tree, no doubt to the coffee maker. She's developed a raging caffeine addiction, courtesy of her job at the diner. He can't even _express_ how thankful he is that she has yet another bad habit. "What is that?"

She's pointing at the foreign looking box on the floor.

"Was gonna ask you that." he mutters, coming to stand beside her.

"That wasn't there last night!"

"No shit, Sherlock."  
  
"Well then who--" she stops short, stares at him, eyes widening, "who has a key to get in?"

"Nobody."

Twitch.

Max studies him, hard. He can see the wheels turning; knows they're spinning to a place that's going to be nothing but one giant pain in the ass.

"C'mon!" he says with enthusiasm that's at least 50% bullshit, "go get some coffee so we can do presents."

It does the trick, almost as well as bacon, and ten minutes later they're sitting in front of the tree like a scene out of White fucking Christmas. She becomes the proud, official owner of his Megadeath tee shirt (she keeps wearing it to bed without asking, anyway, so what the hell), a Bon Jovi tape he swears to God she better not play in his car (he's firmly in the class of guys who refers to them as 'bon blow-me'), new skateboard wheels, and a ridiculous chocolate Santa that he had to break his boycott of the pharmacy to purchase. (Max definitely shouldn't have knocked them over....but that didn't stop him from holding a grudge that they called Hopper on her.) He gets a carton of cigarettes (she's going to steal half and they both know it), some Max-made cookies (he's going to eat them even though he's sure they are terrible), and a really nice earring. When he puts it in, she flips her head just so and points to her own ear, where the other one resides.

"Real nice," he drawls, "you took half my Christmas present."

They spend a second admiring their shit and his throat is _not_ constricted over the earring, damn it. He coughs loudly, lights a smoke, and nods to the mystery box. 

"Open it." he says.

Max gives him an uncertain look, then scoots across the floor and tears off the paper. It's a white, Styrofoam cooler, and when she goes to pop the top open, his curiosity gets the best of him.

Inside, surrounded by half melted freezer packs, is Christmas dinner: a small ham, and some mashed potatoes carefully wrapped in Tupperware he knows damn well belongs to Joyce Byers. There are smaller containers (mostly margarine or cool whip) containing gravy, corn, rolls, yams. On the bottom, in it's own box, is a small, homemade carrot cake. A note on top says: Merry Christmas in block letters, like some kind of ransom note.

He wants to be offended by the charity. If he's honest with himself (which seems to be happening more and more lately), when people treat them as family, it makes him itch from the inside out. People who care about them usually wind up disappointed, and he's learned to save time by not letting them.

But, Max's eyes are sparkling in a way that makes him itch a little less. And this has Joyce and Steve written all over it.  He's seen Joyce finish off a demodog with a kitchen knife, for crying out loud. He _knows_ his balls aren't big enough for _that_ fight.


	6. Bad Moon Rising

Naturally, everything goes to shit soon after the holidays. It starts when Jim Hopper, chief of police, avid Jim Croce fan and unassuming badass in too tight khaki - almost gets finished off by something they well and truly can't see now that the snow is melting.

One second he's crouched behind a wall at the old lab, giving Steve and Billy the stink eye for bickering in whispers that aren't really whispers at all, and the next he is _down_. Joyce is only a dozen or so steps away, but by the time she gets there, and gets a shot fired into the empty space above him, he's already lost an impressive swath of flesh around his arm and his gut is bleeding profusely.

Steve gets there before Billy, a fact he will most certainly lord over him once the smoke clears, and manages to catch sight of the beast as it flickers in and out of visibility, struggling with the wound Joyce has inflicted. He swings, hard, knocks it off Jim and.....directly on to Billy.

"The fuck!" He yells, pissed by the shock and the possibility of having to explain yet another wound to an increasingly nosy stepsister.

Steve responds by taking one shot, then another, and _diving_ on to the thing.

It would be comical if it weren't so damn serious. The monster is flickering like Godzilla on a TV with bad reception, in and out of his vision, with Steve riding it's back. One second he looks like he's flying; the next he's riding a mountain of gooey demodog.

Something shiny catches Billy's eye; it's Joyce's knife, abandoned in the snow while she attempts to drag Jim out of harm's way. He grabs it, yells for Steve -- which distracts the thing and causes it to pause -- and throws the knife.

Steve catches it by the wrong end, because that's _exactly_ the kind of luck they're having, lately. Billy actually wants to roll his eyes, but the guy is tough, he's gotta give him that, because he pulls the knife out of his own flesh and drives it into the back of it's neck -- right in the kill zone.

It chucks him off his back, roars, and topples.

Billy can't stop laughing. In fact, he's laughing his ass off like a goddamn maniac when he sees movement behind a tree to their left. He stops short, grabs the bat and swings around, but the movement is gone.

Later, after they get Hopper loaded up and dispose of the dog, they walk over and take a look. There's still snow in the woods, and the spot in question is full of foot prints. A couple feet away is what looks to be a hastily abandoned mitten, and he recognizes it right away. For a few seconds, he's too blindsided to speak.

Maxine is supposedly at the library with Dustin, who has been trying (probably in vain) to help her pass their next science quiz.

But that mitten?

It's hers.

 

 

 

They spend the better part of the next two hours trying to figure out what their next move is going to be, now that they no longer have the snow in their favor, and helping Joyce patch up the Chief. He's easily the worlds grumpiest patient -- he's pissed off that he didn't see the thing coming, pissed at Steve and Billy for their endless bickering, and most of all, that he can't find his kid.

It's a sensation that Billy can definitely relate to.

"You two are gonna get us killed!" Hopper grouses, not for the first time.

He doesn't respond to that. For one thing, the Chief has already told them they need to either "fight or fuck or whatever you need to do to get it out of your systems" and didn't _that_ cut a little close to the bone? Also, he's itching to go home and put Maxine's ass in a sling. Grounding her for the rest of her life is looking like a very appealing way to nip this disaster in the bud; but he knows it's not that easy. He can't keep them _all_ home. And If she was out there today, they all were. No way is Jane's disappearance a coincidence.

"Going to get Max" He says, and heads out the door.

 

 

 

The kids, who are rapidly becoming _not_ kids, by the way, are huddled in a semi circle, behind the arcade. They have their backs to the road, and it looks for all the world like there's some shady shit going down. In reality, Dustin is droning on about molecular structures and adhesive properties.

"It looks like baby powder." Will says, poking the bag of white dust with his finger.

"It looks like blow." Max says, distinctly, causing everyone to stare. She sighs. They are babes in the woods, in Hawkins, Indiana, and sometimes she forgets that. "Cocaine."

Will pokes it again, causing Mike to swat his hand away and mutter, "Don't, you'll make it lumpy."

"So, when should we tell them?"

That was Lucas, and Max flashes him a grin. "Not until _after_ Wednesday."

Mike rolls his eyes. "We know. Wednesday is the driving test."

Dustin holds the bag of powder up to the fading sunlight. "What do you think they'll--"

"What the _hell_?" Billy is there out of nowhere, it seems; snatches the bag out of Dustin's hand.

Maxine barely has to time to register his presence before there's a fire in her upper arm and she's scrambling to find her footing while being dragged backwards over the lumps and bumps of the arcades scrubby spring lawn. The boys are running after them, yelling things she can't hear for the blood rushing past her ears; things she's absolutely _certain_ Billy can't hear, either. 

He yanks the drivers side door open and shoves her into the car head first, finally releasing her arm, before getting in, himself, and hip checking her ungracefully over the shifter and into her seat.

"Billy!" she rubs her arm, furiously, feeling like maybe she's time traveled back to '85 with the way he's behaving --

\--then she realizes what the problem is.

She remembers about his mother. Remembers Neil slinging words like "drug addict" and "needle freak" at him when he wanted to inflict a different kind of damage. Billy's smoked enough weed in his life to make Cheech Marin look like a poster boy for the newly minted "Just Say No" campaign, but never anything more. And now she remembers why. He has a _thing_ about that.

They get home and into the house, and he cuts her off en route to her room; shoves the bag in her face.

"What is this?" He asks, voice dead flat.

Her brain is going a million miles an hour. She can't tell him about the Monster Dust without betraying her friends, and she doesn't want to admit she was spying on him. All she can get out is, "I can't."

"Maxine."

 "It's not what you think!"

 "Then what is it?"

 "I can't tell you, ok? I can't -- you just have to -- look I know! I know what it looks like! I know how you feel about that stuff, I--." she lowers her voice, doesn't finish.

 "You don't know _anything_."

 "You have to believe me."

 "That's a _laugh_."

He sneers at her, and her desire to avoid the subject of monsters goes out the window, as her indignation morphs into red hot anger. 

 "Oh, like you're some patron saint of honesty? You've been sneaking off fighting demodogs for _months_!"

 "Nobody wanted you guys to know about that, because it's _dangerous_." He hurls at her, and he's too close, in her face. "You know what else? I don't have to explain where I go to you -- all I have to do is _pay the fucking bills_ and _feed your fucking face_ and _keep you safe_!"

"Well, aren't you just a knight in shining armor, these days?"

He takes a few steps forward and she backs up, on instinct, because hell if he doesn't look every bit as menacing as the old Billy right now and it makes her chest feel hollow; makes her want to run.

"I let you get away with a _lot_ of sneaky shit, Max, but I'm done. You were supposed to be at the library today, and you weren't. You were out in the woods spying on us -- and then I find you behind the arcade with _this_?"

He shoves that bag of monster dust at her again and her frustration boils over. She smacks it out of his hand and it flies across the room; sprays out of the bag and sticks to the damn wall.

Nobody notices.

"I wouldn't be sneaking around, if you'd been straight with me in the first place!"

"I don't have to be straight with you about my business. You're a fucking kid!"

"That's a bullshit excuse, and you know it!"

 "Yeah? You wanna hear some bullshit? You can kiss your drivers test goodbye on Wednesday, 'cause if you think I'm forking over 40 bucks so a kid _I can't trust_ can drive around in my car to fuck knows where, you're nuts!"

 OK, that _stings_.

Max sucks in her breath.....and shoves him. Hard. He doesn't go over, because he's got his goddamn _feet planted_ , but he takes a step back -- and then strikes like an angry snake. He gets a fist full of her hoodie and twists, yanking her up onto her toes so they can be eye to eye.

She squeaks, despite herself, and they seem to hang there a few seconds, suspended in time, before his eyes clear and he lets go; walks away from her in strong, determined strides like he can't get away quick enough.  

Walks right out the door.

 

 

 

Steve finds Billy on his third trip around the outskirts of Hawkins, 9 miles out of town, give or take. The clock is creeping up on 2 a.m. and he's exhausted, but he has a sobbing teenage girl in his house and, frankly, he'd rather be here than there.

The car is parked well off the road, and he can see a figure on the hood; the orange of a lit cigarette tip.

He pulls up behind it.

Billy's voice drifts through his open window. "Go away, Harrington."

He gets out and stands in the space of the open car door. Talks across his roof.

"Max is worried about you."

" _Max_ is in some serious shit when I get home."

"Well," says Steve, "that's part of the problem. She's not home. She's at my place. Showed up about an hour ago."

Billy snorts, smoke drifting out his nose. "You think that's somehow _better_?"

"Look, they told us about the stuff in the bag. It's not what you think. I mean," he pauses, "it's not great, but it's not drugs, at least."

No response.

"God, you're such a stubborn fucking hard ass sometimes." Steve shakes his head. "It's something they made to help with the demodogs, ok?"

More silence.

He heaves a sigh; throws out something he knows will goad him into talking. "You said you were trying."

"I am!" Billy snarls, "Can't you tell by the bang up job I'm doing?"

Steve regards him in silence, then takes a pointed look at their surroundings. "Doesn't look like it to me."

He senses Billy's eyes on him, not unlike a monster, but he's not scared. Not anymore. The thing is, Steve's a lot braver than anyone gives him credit for -- a hell of a lot braver than Billy, truth be told. In fact, if he thought the guy was emotionally ready to face the urges that are so _painfully obvious_ whenever they practice together, he'd cross the road right now, pull him close, and tell him it'll be ok; tell him his efforts aren't in vain, that Max is a way better kid than she was a year ago.

Tell him he _sees him_.

But. Right now is not the time, and Steve may not be the brightest bulb on the proverbial Christmas tree, but he knows that.

"Go home, Harrington." Billy says. "Get in your beamer and go home to your nice warm bed, in your nice part of town, and tell my step sister I'll pick her sorry ass up in the morning."

Steve watches the still glowing cigarette butt fly across the sky in an arc.

He gets in his car, and goes home.

 


	7. Of Kisses and (Very Little) Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of stuff. Notably, everything's on the table with the demodogs and......other things.

"How?" Hopper asks, for what seems like the billionth time. He's got his hands in what's left of his hair, and Billy is watching him from across his desk. It's like the tampon incident, all over again, except they aren't alone this time, and he doesn't feel like laughing.

"Because they're smart, " Steve replies, leaning on the filing cabinet, "and they do. Somehow, those little shits figured us out."

Joyce is pacing. Literally pacing

"Well, I can tell you one thing, Will is NOT going out there.".

"Neither is Max."

He feels three sets of eyes settle on him. It's the first thing he's said since they entered this room; first thing he's said all day, as a matter of fact.

Hopper clears his throat. "How's that goin'?"

"None of your business." says Billy, looking him right in the eye.

Truth is, it's not going. Thirty-six hours later and she's still at Steve's. All of their attempts at communication seem to end in fireworks. He was ready to literally haul her ass over his shoulder and cart her home during their last "discussion", but then she turned just right and inadvertently showed him the underside of her arm. She was sporting a set of angry, purple bruises the exact size and shape of his fingertips, courtesy of him dragging her from the back of the arcade to the car.

He promptly threw up in Mrs. Harringtons spring daffodils, then went home and got blind drunk.

 _I am not my father,_ he repeats in his head, before realizing he's missed something. Hopper is staring at him expectantly.

"Huh?"

 "I said, is everybody keeping their hands to themselves?

He growls at Hopper, something that sounds passable for a _yes_ , and closes that particular subject by saying, "Now, what is this shit they _think_ they've found to help us?"

"It's like baby powder," Steve rushes in, clearly on board with the whole 'subject changing' thing, "but it's sticky. I don't know. Dustin explains it better than I can."

Nobody is particularly surprised that Steve can't explain it. Billy feels a stir of affection; tamps it down. Now, is most definitely not the time.

"So....what?" he asks, bitterly. "We call them over all _here kitty, kitty_ -like and ask them to sit still while we dust them in it?"

"We can find a way to shoot it at them." says Joyce, but it sounds more like a question than a statement.

"Bullets." The Chief says, after a pause. "We can encase it in bullets, maybe."

Steve emits a sigh that sounds like he's anticipating a slow, painful death. "We're going to have to ask them for help."  
  
"NO. If we ask them for help, they're going to think that means they can come." Billy replies, and then, feeling Joyce's eyes on him, turns to glare at her, snarling, "What?"

She shakes her head, looks away. "Nothing."

"Look," he grits out, "social workers frown on letting your orphan get eaten by monsters, ok?"

"Hey!" Hopper says, sharp, in his _quit being rude to Joyce_ voice. He takes his eyes off Billy, moves them to Steve. "I don't think we have a choice. They're the only one who know exactly how this shit works......and you know as well as I do you can't involve one unless you involve them all."

 

 

 

"Listen," Steve says, later, while they're standing in the parking lot, "I know she wants to come home. She's just...."

His voice drifts off, his eyes to heaven.

"Impossibly stubborn?" supplies Billy. He notes Steve's nod; lights a smoke. He doesn't take much satisfaction in the news, because he's surprisingly miserable without her dirty dishes and her mood swings -- her shitty attitude that,  defying all laws of human genetics, she has somehow gotten from him.

He also feels like a first class asshole about those bruises. He tries to tell himself that Neil put far larger ones on her, on both of them, but it's no excuse, and he knows it.

"I can't give in," he says, out loud, "it's too dangerous." What he leaves hanging is that it's too dangerous for him, too. Because wild horses couldn't pry it out of him at the moment, but the fact is, if she goes into the fray, he's going to be too busy worrying about her to take care of himself.

"Dude," Steve's voice interrupts his thoughts, "I don't know how you do it. I seriously don't." Billy glances up, feels like laughing for the first time in days, at the manic expression on his face, "For one thing, where does she put all that food? She eats like she has a hollow leg."

Billy smirks. He offered Steve food money he didn't really have, but, of course, he wouldn't take it.  "Sure you don't want some money?"

Steve dismisses him with a wave of his hand. His eyes are glossy, like he's got some kind of PTSD. Makes Billy think of something. "Look, don't mention the food thing though, OK? Neil used to give her a hard time about her appetite, tell her she was gonna get fat or some shit. Told her it wasn't _lady like_ , whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean." He pauses, "She's really sensitive about it."

"Oh yeah? She's sensitive about it, huh? Well, that's a shocker......she's sensitive about _everything!_   It's like living in a minefield!"  
  
"Now you know why I drink so much."

Steve goes on as if he hasn't heard a word, "One minute she's bitching about you, then she's crying that she misses her mom, then she hates her mom and she misses home -- then she's crying over her drivers test and how it's going to take _months to reschedule._ She's told me _that_ about a hundred times....and 30 seconds later she wants to know if Lucas can comer over."

"You want me to try to make her come home?" he asks, not without a certain amount of trepidation.

Steve still looks shell shocked, but shoots him a sympathetic glance that makes him want to fuck him and punch him, all at the same time. "Nah." he says, "I wouldn't put you in that position. I know this sucks." He pauses, "But maybe after we meet with the kids you should come over and talk to her again. Maybe she'll be calmer then."

He snorts.

Harrington. Always the optimist.

 

 

 

Clusterfuck: _noun_

US _vulgar slang_

noun: **clusterfuck** ; plural noun: **clusterfucks** ; noun: **cluster-fuck** ; plural noun: **cluster-fucks**

  1. a disastrously mishandled situation or undertaking
  2. _what happens when they get the kids together to talk about monsters_



 

They're having their pow wow at casa Byers, and it's going about as well as anyone expected.

Dustin, Lucas, and Mike are all firmly committed to _not_ making any more monster dust, or showing them how to use what they already have, until they get a guarantee they can come with.  No amount of brow beating from the Chief, reasoning from Steve, or cajoling from Joyce, is changing their minds, either.

Max.....well, Max isn't speaking to anyone. She is pointedly ignoring her stepbrother, who is pointedly ignoring her back.

Will isn't even _there_. Nobody would be surprised if his mom has him hog tied in a closet somewhere.

Jane looks between the two parties (the yellers and the ignorers), rolls her eyes, and decides to keep to her own council. She's too bad ass for petty bickering, and she knows it. Eventually, though, there's a lull in the arguing, so she says in a loud, clear voice, "They are coming from the lab. I know the lab better than any of you--"

"No." says Hopper.

And then they're off again.

Finally, she stands, dark, curly head bobbing up from the couch, lowers her line of vision, and knocks a glass off the counter from across the room. It shatters spectacularly, which earns her a dirty look from her surrogate Dad but also shuts everyone up.

"I can slow them down." She says again, speaking evenly and succinctly in a voice clearly meant to remind them she can, actually, kill them if she wants to. "I can do it from a safe place, if that makes you feel better. I only have to see them, not get close to them."

There is a moments silence, while the kids wait with baited breath and Hopper stares from Jane to Joyce, his wheels clearly turning. Finally, he mutters a resigned, " _Fine_."

They spend the _next_ hour arguing over the details of their plan, trying to find one that's a good compromise between safety and effectiveness.

Except Max. Because _fuck compromise._

 

 

 

They've barely wedged themselves into Steve's beamer before it starts again, and this time it's not about who is sneaking where, who lied about what, or even who revoked whose driving privileges.

It's about the monsters.

"You are not going." Billy says, twisting around in the passenger's seat so he can glare at her properly.

"Oh," she spreads her arms wide, "I am so going. SO GOING! And if you're going, I don't know how you think you can stop me."

"I need to keep you safe!" He bellows, making her shrink back ever so slightly in her seat, "What do you think is gonna happen if you break a leg or have to get stitches, huh? How do you think that's gonna look to Maria? Hospitals report to social workers, Max!"  
  
"Mrs. Byers can patch me up!"  
  
"For real?? What do you think....she's a doctor?? Sewing up a cut is nothing! She can't fix a broken leg or a head injury!"

Steve pulls into his driveway with a bump and they are both out of the car at lightening speed; both slamming the doors.

Steve doesn't get out.

"I don't care!" She spins around to face him. "And you don't get to lecture me about safety! A few years ago, you were the person I needed protection _from_!"

"Quit throwing the past in my face, Maxine."

"You're a fucking hypocrite!" She screams, dragging out the last word.

He takes a few steps back, breathes deeply. "For the last time," he says, "I don't care about being a hypocrite. Get it through your head! I made so many shitty decisions in my life, as far as I'm concerned, if I did it -- you shouldn't!"

She crosses her arms. Plants her damn feet. "I saved up enough money. I can pay for the test myself."

"Oh yeah? Well, guess what, _princess._ You still need my signature."

She looks mad enough to spit, and goddamn it, he's feeling pretty smug about that, when she says in a slow, halting voice, "You are _just like him_."

 

 

 

Max wants to take it back, as soon as she says it. She's bracing herself for a response, but he doesn't make one. Instead, he dusts off that intense, unreadable expression he used to wear around Neil, lights a cigarette, and walks away.

Somehow, that's worse.

 

 

 

Billy is standing at the end of Harrington's driveway, sucking down a cigarette with shaking fingers and listening with one ear to what's going on up at the house.

It's a pretty magnificent display, and he should know, he's seen a lot of them.

Steve, who is almost always as cool as a cucumber, is yelling. 

"You just wore out your welcome, Max!" He hears, and he thinks, for the first time in her life, she must be too stunned to respond. "That was over the line! I want you out! _Now_!"

He tosses his smoke; grinds it out with his heel, then sticks it in his pocket because Steve is a fussy ass. He listens as footsteps make their way across the black top.

Steve shoulder checks him, gently. "She didn't mean it."

He looks up to say he's not so sure, but he doesn't get a chance. Steve shoves him up against a maple. Kisses him, hard.

When they break away, Steve's staring at him with wary eyes, and he realizes, the guy has been waiting a while to do that -- waiting for the right time, the right shot of adrenaline to make him fearless.

Billy smirks; watches the tension drain out of Steve's face in response.

"Didn't know you had it in ya, Harringon." He says.

Steve turns and walks back toward the house, just as Max comes out the door, looking embarrassed and weepy.

"Go home and work some shit out." He tosses at them, over his shoulder. Then he goes inside and locks his expensive front door behind him.  

 

 

 


	8. Breaking Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah.... this ends on a pretty fluffy note. I can't even make any excuses for myself.

 

 

 

"What the _fuck_?"

Maxine stares at the hole where her door knob was, only seconds before; blinks a few times to make sure she's not imagining things.

She's not.

The door shoves open, toppling the now useless chair over in the process. Billy waves a dismissive hand at it. "Sick of that shit, Max. Come out so we can talk."

He wants to _talk_. He wants her to _stay safe_. She swears sometimes she's living in the Twilight Zone. Some kind of alien has stolen her step brother and replaced him with this quieter, less dangerous, more _annoying as fuck_ version of his former self.

She stares at the hole in the door, thinks about what she said earlier. Thinks about all the shit he doesn't even _know_ about; half smoked joints under the bleachers with Mike Wheeler, trips out the window while he's passed out on the couch with too many beer cans littered around.

He's got a point about her sneakiness. And, truth be told, he's trying to make this work a hell of a lot harder than she is, and she knows it.

Judging by that humiliating fiasco earlier, even Steve Harrington knows it.

On the other hand, he'd made such a scene at the arcade that she'd probably _never_ live it down, and cancelled her drivers test over some _monster dust_ and a lie that, frankly, was pretty fucking justified.

"Max!"

"I'm coming, Jesus!" She shuffles out and plops onto the other end of the couch; can't keep the snottiness out of her voice when she says, "Fine, let's _talk_."

He doesn't call her on it. Doesn't even look at her, and that makes her gut twist because it's a stark reminder that she said the most unforgivable thing in their world, earlier.

"I didn't mean to say--"

" _Save it_." he bites out, voice flat, poker face in place. He sounds bone weary. "I don't know what to do," he says, "I really don't. I can't let the other three down, but I know if I leave you here alone, you'll follow."

"Hopper said he'd build a safe spot, up in the trees, for Jane. I could go there, too. "

Billy shakes his head, tightens his jaw; doesn't say anything.

"Look, I was just so mad about the drivers test."

"You had that coming."

Maybe. But it still pisses her off to hear it. "Like hell!"

He shrugs.

_Shrugs._

"What the fuck, Billy! You've been sneaking around fighting monsters since at least before Thanksgiving. And you lied right to my face about your injuries, because no way did you get those from flying out of a car -- then you have the nerve to be mad at me for lying about going to the library?"

He doesn't react; doesn't budge. It makes her see _red_.

"All I wanted was to know what the hell was going on! And you _lost your shit_ over the monster powder! We were trying to help you guys, and you wouldn't even listen when I told you it wasn't what you thought! And now you want me to sit home, like some baby, when everyone else is going? I'm supposed to sit here and worry you're going to get --"

She stops abruptly. She was not planning to admit that. Not even a little.

But it's true.

All of a sudden, the room is too close, too quiet. She wants to flee, go back to her room but her goddamn _door_ is busted, thank you very much Billy, so she opts for staring into her lap, instead.

"You're right about the monster powder." he says, and he sounds bitter, but sincere. "And I'm sorry I dragged you off like that, put fucking bruises on your arm. I'm a chip off the ol' block, ok? I'm an asshole, I know that."

" _Save it_." she mimics.

He lights a cigarette, smokes it down to the filter with alarming speed. "Listen to me. It's not the same as it used to be."

"No shit. You're an even bigger pain in the ass now than you were before. And believe me, I did not think that was possible."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs; rolls his eyes. "You've grown on me, ok? It took long enough, but I swear you're like some kind of toxic mold. Maybe a venereal disease." He peers at her through heavy lids, but she's not having it. He heaves a sigh; changes tracks. "I didn't want you to know about the monsters, because, first of all, they didn't want the other kids to know and second--"

" _Kids_."

"Jesus, Maxine. Just listen, would you? They didn't want anyone to know, and I didn't want you to know because I knew it would be like this. You'd want to be out there, and it's dangerous. Don't you think it might be nice for you to spend a few years not having to worry about getting hurt?"

She _hates_ it when he's the reasonable person in their equation. _Hates it._

"It doesn't seem to be an issue for you." she replies.

"I am an angry person, what can I say?" he shoots back. "I enjoy killing those things. It's a good way to blow off steam. Maria would be impressed."

"Risking your life is therapeutic, now?"

Max can feel him studying her. "It's a bitter pill. I know. I'm willing to admit that I'm a hypocrite, and I know that gets under your skin but...it's too late for me on some things. I'm not exactly going to take up knitting or jogging to deal with my anger. This is the healthiest _I get_."

She can hear what's left hanging, that it's not too late _for her_ to find better ways. "I hear you," she says, quietly, "but I can't let my party down any more than you can let _yours_ down."

They're at an impasse. They've said all the things they weren't saying before, but it didn't fix a thing.

He knows it, too. She watches as the poker face slide back on, sees his jaw set.

"You stay in the safe area, and you find your own ride there. Don't come crying to me if you get hurt." He says, in a voice like he's talking to strangers, "And make sure you get those new skateboard wheels on -- 'cause you show up there tonight and that's gonna be your only mode of transportation for a _long_ time. You'll be skateboarding to your goddamn high school graduation."

 

 

 

Billy realizes she's gone, about an hour before the meet up time.

Out the window, just like the old days, and honestly? He's relieved. It's not like he really thought she'd stay home, and this way they don't have to suffer through another scene that isn't going to change anything.

At this point, he'd rather handle the fall out; figures she must feel the same.

He starts getting ready to go, but it's not with much focus. His brain is spinning with memories of hard maple bark and soft lips; the word _faggot_ , spat at him with the kind of vitriol most people reserve for their enemies and not their offspring.

He glances into Max's messy room one more time, on his way out. _Respect and responsibility_ shouldn't be so damn _hard_.

Then he goes to kill some monsters.

 

 

 

Max gets to the meet up spot at dusk. She leans her board up against the base of the tree, smirking at the sound of her friends bickering in the makeshift tree stand, high above. She climbs the ladder as quietly as possible, pops her head up through the hole and _roars._

Everyone but Jane _jumps_ , and she's thinking this is the best she's felt in days, when she hears Hopper behind her.

"C'mon, Red. Get your ass up there. I was just about to have a discussion with you guys."

And God _,_ she is so tired of _discussions_ at this point, but she pulls herself up through the hole and takes Lucas' extended hand, gratefully, to help her to her feet. She tries to listen to the Chief's sternly delivered Safety Lecture, she really does -- but she's also using a fair amount of self control to _not_ look across the clearing to where the "adults" are standing, watching.

She's accepted that she's making a decision that has consequences; has accepted that this is going to make life miserable for a while -- but she's still not excited to see the look on Billy's face. Part of her feels like this is as big a betrayal as telling him he's just like Neil, and that is harder to reconcile with her conscience.

"Hey _Red_!" Hopper barks, "You listening?"

"Yep!"  She's not listening. But it's pretty easy to figure out what he said: stay in the safe zone, don't leave the safe zone, I'll kill anyone who leaves the safe zone, etc..

It's not exactly rocket science.

"Do NOT move out of here." Hopper says, giving each of them the stink eye in turn, "I know you think you can handle it, because you've fought them before, but they aren't the same animal they were then." He pauses, takes a breath, and ends with an eloquent, "I will personally kick the ass of anyone who tries to get involved, for any reason."

He's mostly looking at Jane, who is blinking back at him with supreme boredom painted on every feature. Max half expects her to yawn in his face.

It's a feeling she can 100% relate to.

"OK." Mike pipes up, sounding unapologetically dismissive, "Remember, you only have 50 of those powder bullets and they have to hit them dead on or they won't blow."

The Chief nods one nod, then turns to head for his hiding spot, beside Joyce.

"Christ," Max mutters, "they have us so fucking far away we need binoculars."

"Got 'em." Dustin says.

Because, of course Dustin brought binoculars. Of course he did.

He hands them over and the first thing she does, the very first, is break the promise she made to herself and seek out the boys. They're crouched together on the south end of the building, her stepbrother looking off into the distance and Steve....well, he's staring at Billy.

"I feel it, too." Jane says, quietly, from beside her. She's looking in the same direction, and Max knows with gut certainty she's not referring to a demodog.

Max shakes her head, mutters, "Maybe Billy wouldn't be such an asshole if he'd just give in."

"Not an asshole." Says Jane, matter of factly, "Scared."

Max doesn't get what the big deal is. She's seen Billy with a lot of girls, and he never looked at even one of them the way he looks at Steve. But then she hears Neil's voice, calling Billy a faggot, slamming him against he wall; and she knows why he's scared.

"His papa was a bad man."

"Yeah." Max agrees, half heartedly. This entire conversation isn't doing much for her feelings of guilt. Then, right as she's about to hand the binoculars back to Dustin, something catches her eye. "Guys, look!"

"Whoa!" Mike jumps up, jabbing a finger at the roof above Billy and Steve.

 _Four_ clearly visible demodogs have popped onto the rooftop and are slinking slowly toward the edge.

"Son of a bitch!" Dustin hisses, "No way can they take four at once! Not even with the powder!"

The words are barely out of his mouth before one blinks out of sight -- then another.

"ROOF!" Lucas yells across the clearing, "Four on the roof!"

Without warning, Joyce goes down in the mud, hard and fast

That's really all it takes for them to blow Hoppers carefully constructed safety lecture to confetti. They scramble down the tree en masse, the distance across the clearing suddenly seeming like _miles_. Max finds herself sprinting for all she's worth, toward Billy and Steve; it's not even a decision.

Dustin is right beside her. Lucas and Mike are both hell bent for Hopper and Joyce, and Jane is holding the rear, walking with quick and deadly determination.

"Son of a bitch!" Dustin yells again, and she casts him a sidelong glance, missing a tree root in the process and going down hard on her chest. She scrambles back up, finds her footing -- and looks.

Billy and Steve are each fighting their own beast, and she catches sight of a third, on the roof above them, just before it blinks out of sight. 

"Look out above!" She screams. Steve twists around at the sound of her voice, then does a header, his feet knocked right out from under him.

Max runs faster than she's ever run in her life, a sense a helplessness blooming hard in her chest. Dustin gets there before her, skids to a stop next to Steve, and grabs a discarded bat; starts swinging for all he's worth.

There's a muffled _pop_ , then another. The white, powdery outline of a demodog blooms into vision above Steve and Dustin gives it a hard _thwak_.

"Get down!" Hopper's voice tears across the clearing and she hits the ground right as more gunfire explodes around her. The beast doesn't go down, but it's flickering now, by turns hazy white and solid, slimy, greenish gray. She spits out a mouthful of mud; scrambles to her feet.

Dustin _screams_ and before she can even comprehend what she's seeing, the thing has whipped him up, high into the air by the scruff of his jacket.

"Dustin!" Steve yells in a voice she doesn't recognize, and tears toward him -- bat in one hand, gun in the other. From the corner of her eye, she sees Joyce sprinting across the field, knife tucked in her belt. Hopper, Mike, and Lucas are on her heels, but they still seem _impossibly_ far.

She turns, frantic, looking for Billy. He's right behind her; looking equal parts terrified and homicidal. He snatches the air for her, but he's tackled from the side; knocked flat by a still invisible beast. His arm makes an audible _pop_ as the thing grabs it and drags him down the field.

Everyone else is too busy trying to save Dustin to notice. Max scrambles for a gun labeled POWDER in large, white letters, a few yards away; grabs it and changes direction to give chase. She fires awkwardly in the direction of the demodog, but nothing happens.

She screams at the top of her lungs, and shoots again. Suddenly she can see the hazy, white outline of a very startled demo dog, looking straight at her.

They both stop.

Billy manages to wriggle out from under the thing while it's distracted, yells something to Max that sounds an awful lot like a death threat but she can't hear for the drums in her ears. He gets a few steps and the demodog snaps back to attention; bats him like a cat with a mouse, and sends him flying.

Max is completely and unexpectedly _livid_.

" _Back off my brother,  you asshole_!"

Billy is scrambling to his feet a few yards away; stands there for a millisecond, looking stunned by the ferocity of her anger on his behalf. Then he snaps to attention. He zigs to the right, pointing emphatically to his left. Max realizes in a flash what she has to do;  plants her feet and _fires_.

The demodog lights up like a white Christmas tree, pivots toward her, and _charges._

She runs for all she's worth, hears a _whoosh_ and her back explodes in agony, making her stumble. She's on the ground in a ball, squeezing her eyes shut tightly, expecting an impact.....that never comes.

Jane's voice cuts through her fog. "Run!"

She twists onto her flaming back; sees the underside of a half visible demodog floating, midair, above her. She scrambles out from under it just as Jane flicks her wrist and sends it flying into a wall of the lab, it's lifeless body landing with a _crunch_ that would probably be deeply satisfying if she weren't in so much pain.

Lucas is sprinting toward her now. She feels hands at her back; hears him breathe a stunned, _oh shit_ , and promptly passes out. 

 

 

 

When Max wakes up the first time, her lungs and her back are throbbing. She feels the rhythmic bounce-bounce of being carried, smells traces of monster slime, cigarette smoke, and Farrah Fawcett hairspray, and fades back to black

When she wakes up again, she's on Hopper's couch, at the cabin. There's a fire in her back and Lucas is holding her hand tight.

"Don't move!" He says, in an urgent voice, "Mrs. Byers is sewing you up."  
  
"Sewing me--"

"Yeah, one got you in the back. Pretty bad, too."

She grimaces.

"Everyone else?"

"We're all a little banged up," he says, ducking his head, "me and Mike took one down on our own but....Mike got bit on the leg. Hopper's got some pretty good gashes. Billy popped his shoulder out but they got it back in. Had to put a few stitches in his arm, too."

"Steve?"  
  
"Just messed up my hair," Steve's drawls from behind her, "thanks to Jane."

"It was nothing." Jane says, in that serious way of hers, and for some reason that makes everyone laugh. It's the exhausted, hysterical laughter of people who are thankful to be alive, but it still feels good.

When they're done, Joyce pats her shoulder and says, "OK, Red. Try to sit still, only a few stitches left."

"I'm ok." She responds, but she's mostly trying to reassure herself because _damn_ does that sting. She hasn't been in this much pain in a long time.

But it was worth it. If she hadn't been there....she cautions a glance in Billy's direction, but his eyes are closed, face unreadable. She watches as Steve walks up to him, lifts his hand gingerly and places a plastic cup of amber liquid firmly in his grasp. Billy smirks without opening his eyes; takes a sip.

Max has an ache in her gut. She remembers what happened when Neil found out she was dating Lucas; what it felt like to want what she couldn't have. She wonders fleetingly what it's like to have responsibility for another human being foisted upon you, to try your best even though you're not really equipped, all the while your father's voice is echoing in your head, berating you for a lack of _responsibility_ ; hating you for being who you _are_ and wanting what you want.

Joyce gives her a gentle squeeze from behind, on the good side of her back. "That should hold up ok."

Max takes a deep, grounding breath. "I hope so." she says, and she's not talking about her back.

 

 

 

The party spends the next couple hours eating Hopper out of house and cabin. They munch on hot dogs and work out parental cover stories that the Chief and Joyce can later back them up on.

Pretty soon, it's time to part ways. Will has already called several times to check on everyone, so Joyce loads the other boys up in her car for the sleep over they've all planned, at her place.

Steve gets in the back seat of the camaro, and Max is honest to fuck _praying_ she doesn't get lit up over this whole situation until after they drop him off. Her pride has taken enough abuse lately, thank you very much.

As usual, God is completely blasé to her needs, because the first thing Billy does is fire up a cigarette and say, "Did you _not_ hear the part about staying in the safe zone?"

"Yeah," she mutters, "I heard it."

"And you know the whole reason I didn't want you there in the first place is I knew that you wouldn't _listen_."

She nods and bites her tongue.

He cuts his eyes to her. "You had enough monster hunting, now that you have _twelve_ stitches in your back?"

She wants to say yes; wants to tell him what he needs to hear and make everything better. But --

"I know you're mad," she says instead, "but I couldn't stay in the safe zone and _watch_ while you were in danger. I couldn't help myself, I --" she stops short, then blurts it out, "I care about you, _asshole_. And you're not like _him_ , either. Not anymore. Haven't been in a long time." She pauses, exhaustion washing over her in a wave, "I was just saying what I knew would hurt you."

Billy stares out the windshield. "I think your arm might disagree with that."

"My arm is _fine_."

"It's not _fine_ , Max. Don't start thinking that shit is _fine_. Don't you _ever_ excuse that from me or anyone else -- or some day you'll end up _married_ to someone who treats you like Dad did and-" He stops short; take a breath. "I'll _never_ forgive myself if I'm part of that."

"OK."

"No _ok_." He grits out, " _Promise._ Promise not to excuse that kind of shit from anyone, _ever_. Even me. I swear I'll never put a mark on you again, but if something happens _, if I lose my shit--_ "

"You won't." 

"Just promise."

"I do. I promise." She says, and _fuck_ if she doesn't feel like crying.

The car drifts into silence; slows to a manageable pace. Max stares out the window, waiting for her heartbeat to do the same. 

After a few minutes, Steve clears his throat loudly and says, "How long do you plan to keep torturing her?"

Billy shoots an eye roll at him in the mirror, but it's laced with fond exasperation. "Shut it, Harrington."

Max looks from one to the other, eager to be on familiar ground. And bickering is _definitely_ familiar ground. "The hell you guys talking about?"

"Well," Billy drawls, "it's pretty obvious that I can't stop you from joining us unless I'm willing to nail you to the wall -- which I considered, by the way. And you blew the whole 'safety zone' thing right out of the water, so I guess the next best thing is teaching you to at least do it right."

"Yeah," Steve chimes in, "starting with target practice. Jesus, Max, I thought you were going to blow someone's head off today!"

She stares at Billy, mouth wide open. "Wait -- what? You mean I can come next time?"

"Not next time. But, _sometimes_." He shoots her an emphatic glance, "Within _reason_. And not until I think you're ready, and you're _not_ getting a gun--"

"But Steve just said--"

"Yeah, no. I don't care what Steve said."

Steve pops his feet up on the headrest, right beside her face. "Quit being such a hard ass." he says.

"What? She can have a bat."

"Oh yeah? What? With tacks in it? Toothpicks? How 'bout some training wheels?"

"I'm satisfied with a bat." Max says, hastily.

"Either way, you need some practice," says Steve, "you should probably join girls softball or something."

"If it doesn't interfere with _detentio_ n." Billy mutters. "And you are quitting smoking once and for all. There has to be some trade off here." Steve kicks the back of his seat and she can practically _feel_ his eyes roll. "Fine," he amends, " _we_ are quitting smoking."

"At the same time?" She asks, horrified, "We'll kill each other!"

Steve chuckles. It reminds her of something else she's been wanting to say. "I have a condition."

Billy glares at her. "You've got some nerve," he says, "you really think you're in a position to make demands?"

"Yep."

" _Fine._ Spit it out."

"You gotta pull over."

"Maxine, quit fucking around."

"No, I'm serious. Pull over and let Steve get up front."

Billy pulls over, and she can tell by the look on his face that it's not because she asked. It's because he's on to her. " _This_ is not up for discussion."

"Oh, I don't know," says Steve, "I'm interested in what she has to say."

"She doesn't understand what's at stake."

"Yes, I _do_. And I'm sick of watching you try to be someone you're not. Everybody knows Freddy Mercury likes boys, and if it's good enough for him, it's good enough for you losers."

"It's not that easy, _Max_."

She crosses her arms. Gives him the _look_ that means she's not budging. "Yeah, it is. It doesn't have to be anyone else's business but yours. I mean, c'mon Billy, we could _move in_ with Steve and nobody would even question it. Everybody knows we're broke, and the people who care about us will accept it. I know they will."

Billy makes a noise that sounds a lot like a seagull with a french fry stuck in it's beak, but Steve sits up so his head is between them; says, "Why don't you quit being such a chicken shit? You know you want me."

"I do." He says quietly, into the steering wheel.

"Your dad was wrong," Steve tells him, all traces of humor now gone from his voice, "and he's dead. You gonna waste your whole life because of him? You gonna let him _win_ , like that? How would that be any better than Max marrying some loser who hits her, someday?"

Billy nods; seems to smirk, despite himself. "You're such an asshole."

"Takes one to know one."

"Jesus," Max groans, popping her door open, "I'm _so_ going to regret this."

"See?" Steve nudges him, "Just think of all the fertile ground for annoying your step sister!"

Billy turns in his seat. He regards Max for a few seconds, waits for her to look at him.

"Don't call her that." He says, mildly.

"Don't call her what?"

"Step sister." he says, "It's not step sister. It's just _sister_."


End file.
